Chasing Madam Cloud Splendor
by Illyana Lian-hua Wendybyrd
Summary: By popular request, a continuation of Wendybrd's "Sweet Water." Take note of the rating, this is our evocative version of Mulan.
1. Default Chapter

Chasing Madam Cloud Splendor Disclaimer: It sucks to be envious of a peach. All characters except Meng Tai-shan belong to   
Disney, although Shang is Lian-hua's in spirit, Goddess knows she spends enough time with him.   
We're not doing this to make money, believe us, in order to make money this would have to be a   
whole lot trashier.   
Rating: This story is rated R for semi-explicit descriptions of sexual acts. Some would say it's pushing the limit but it's all symbolically beautiful we promise. You have been warned. If you read any further, we're not responsible if you get offended, in fact we'll think it's funny. However, there is a plot here, unfortunately.   
Archive: http://mulan.fanspace.com   
Explanation: This story is a continuation of Wendybyrd's "Sweet Water." This is a loose   
retelling of the original movie with a serious twist. However a small bit of the original scenes and dialogue had to be altered to fit our plot. Tai-shan is thrown in here because we think he's cool, Mushu has been eliminated because we don't give a f*ck about him.

CHASING MADAM CLOUD SPLENDOR 

A Mulan reworking   
by Illyana, Lian-hua and Wendybyrd 

  
  


Rising from the water, Li Shang quickly donned his clothes again if only by absent minded memorization. Had it been a task that required thought, he might have stood there and puzzled for hours. Maybe it made him a coward, to have dashed from the water so fast, maybe he should have stayed for one more glimpse. The truth was, and it rankled to admit, he was afraid. In such a short time he had gained and lost something without ever having the chance to really know what it was. 

As he made his way back through the willow trees again, he recalled a story from his youth. There was once a ruler named King Huai who had traveled south on a pleasure trip. He had fallen asleep by a lake and had a dream of a fairy named Yaoji. In this dream, the fairy had become his lover, leaving him to wake with a haunting sense of loss. All he could do was build a temple for the girl, the Temple of the Morning Cloud, which Shang had visited himself once. Now walking away from the lake all he understood in his confusion was that he felt like the King in that story. 

He could not seem to shake off the feeling of her warm body, the pressure of her legs entangled around him, and that salty sweet taste on her skin. His lips moved just slightly, as though trying to kiss her again. He closed his eyes, a pang of remembered pleasure making him pause for a long, distracted moment. She had had him so enchanted, with her way of being controlling yet yielding at the same time, a little bundle of contradictions he could spend hours puzzling out. 

There was no way she could be real; if only he had thought to demand a name. But what did that matter? She seemed so intent on keeping her identify a secret, perhaps to protect herself and her family. That would mean she was of some importance to go that far with her secrecy. Of course, puzzling out her identity was a mere distraction, and a cowardly one, he could not even begin to fathom the things she made him feel. No, that was for another day, when he had a clear head. 

Padding barefoot across the grass, he swept by the rows of tents occupied by his soldiers - or those who would like to consider themselves as such - he corrected himself. The dark grove gave way to an aura of lamplight, marked by those unfortunate upstarts who had found themselves on the night watch. The night watch, he repeated to himself thoughtfully, with half a mind to ask if they had seen anything strange, a girl perhaps. But that was pointless, they were lazy and their eyes were still untrained, too oblivious to see their own boots. If they had seen a girl, rest assured they would have been whistling and catcalling for hours. 

He stopped short when passed by one tent in particular, and the little figure that was sitting outside of it, arms folded over his knees, face titled up the sky. 

"Ping," he called sternly, not really angry but chiding the boy was a habit by now after all the cause Ping had given him. "What are you doing?" 

Recoiling at the sound of Shang's voice, the little soldier jumped, stumbling in his haste to salute his commander. 

"Uhh, sir... I was um..." He giggled nervously. Giggled! A boy! 

Crossing his arms, Shang balanced his weight to tap one foot impatiently. Deep inside, he was slightly thankful for the boy's presence for once, it brought a sense of normality to his confusion. "Fa Ping," he began in a lecturing tone, at the same time wondering why on earth Fa Zhou would give his son a name that meant "flower vase." It must be superstition, Shang reasoned out finally, perhaps in the hope that a girl's name might keep evil spirits from harming his only son, fooling them into thinking Ping was a girl. 

"Ping, what if this were the battlefield and I had given you an order? If you were to forget it, all your comrades might die. Now," he reached for the boy's collar to pull him upright. "What were you doing?" Reminding him of the dangers of combat was useless, Ping would be lucky if he survived recruit training. He would not last a moment on the battlefield. Problematic did not even begin to describe Ping as a soldier. Ping was a cheater, plainly put, never quite absorbing Shang's advice to never accomplish a task by shortcut, as a matter of honor. That sort of man had no place in the army. 

"Please, sir." Ping brushed Shang's hands away, looking very nervous, almost terrified. "Could you please not touch me right now. I don't like it when people touch me." 

"What?" Shang had no choice but to chuckle at the boy's quirkiness. "Are you trying to protect your honor as a maiden?" He could not help but mock him. Really, the child was so queer. 

Suddenly Ping was unable to look at him, turning his profile to Shang and staring at nothing in particular. The boy was angry, or hurt by Shang's words. Sighing, Shang unfolded his arms and made an effort to look less threatening. Maybe Ping had been taken advantage of as a child. Shang was here to press the boy to physical and moral excellence, not dredge up unpleasant memories 

"I was practicing, sir," Ping turned to him suddenly, a faint gleam of determination in his eye. 

"Well that's good," Shang said approvingly. "Since you've been practicing so diligently, how about a match? Let's see if you've improved any." The boy might never be a soldier, but a few skills might help him hold his own against Yao or Ling, a little vengeance for all their pranks. Shang blinked, confused as to why he was suddenly concerned with the boy's ability to defend himself. Ping was an upstart if there ever was one; he should be on perpetual guard duty just for good measure. 

Ping's expression became dubious, wary. "Actually, sir, I'd rather not. I'm... still sore from," he hesitated, swallowing, " earlier." 

"You're a soldier," Shang reminded sternly. "You must not be afraid of suffering." Their eyes met a moment, Ping seemed fascinated and uncomfortable at the same time. Shang had no idea how he knew that when Ping's expression had not really changed. He was not usually talkative, but found himself continuing. If bullying didn't work perhaps words of encouragement would help Ping to improve. "If you are afraid of pain, then you will never take a risk. If you won't take a risk, how can you know what you can accomplish? That's why we're here, Ping, to be the best that we can for our country." 

"I thought it was about upholding the family honor," Ping lowered his eyes, confused and upset over something. "That's what my father said, sir." 

Shang nodded in understanding, the boy loved his father too. "Well, that's true too," he offered diplomatically before nodding a goodnight and walking towards his tent. 

Once he was safe in the seclusion of his tent, Shang blew out the candles quickly, climbing under the blankets with an irresolute sigh. He knew the night was bound to be awash with dreams, if he was even able to sleep, and each of those dreams would conjure her face. The sages warned those who could not temper their desires about how they could consume a man and bring about his downfall in the end. But surely one fairy in the river could not be so dangerous. With a troop of hopeless men to train, pleasant occurrences here were few and far between, so he allowed himself to close his eyes. King Huai, he mused to himself sadly as he drifted, in that story he never met Yaoji again. 

~ * ~ 

Oddly enough, Ping was actually punctual the next morning, a sight so rare it commanded Shang's immediate attention even in his half distracted state. He went through the drills, the demonstrations with staff and spear, the sparring. The state of his troops was hardly improving, they still tripped over their own feet and could barely twirl a staff, let alone defend themselves with it. It had only been two weeks, he tried to think positively, and he could not give up, not after he had promised his father. 

"Soldiers!" He bellowed after they were reassembled from their clumsy practice. Every man faced forward at the sound of his voice, at least they had learned to stand in formation. It was a start, he grumbled quietly as he paced to and fro. "The Huns are known for hiding in the mountain terrain, where the passes give them direct access to Ch'ang-an. If you survive training, you will follow me up there to join with the Imperial forces. It is there we will confront the enemy. In the mountains, the elements are punishing, with snow and sharp winds. The climate is enough to kill you. But you must learn to endure it, whether you are scouting the enemy or fleeing for your lives. If you fail, you don't want to think about what will happen to your families." Turning from them he faced the horizon, where the craggy outline of golden cliffs sat incongruously against the clear sky. "Today I will take you up there. We will run five miles and then we will come back. Go to Chi Fu, get your weights and let's go." 

The expected hum of complaints resounded among the men as they dragged their feet in sulky steps towards Chi Fu. Shang found it hard to deny that it gave him the slightest joy to torment them so; as he saw it, it was fair payback for their lazy refusal to do their best. It was fair revenge for the late night diatribes he got from Chi Fu, all because of them. 

It wasn't a long hike up the cliffs, but walking to the mess tent was a long hike for them. Yao and Ling were already arguing, even after Shang had threatened both of them earlier. Ping was not far behind the pair as his bad luck would have it, receiving cold stares and much unsolicited verbal abuse. The boy endured it all without much in the way of retaliation. Poor Ping looked like he hadn't slept much at all. Poor Ping? He chided himself. Ping alone was too common a reason for those tirades from Chi Fu. The truth was, Shang had no idea what to do about Ping, he failed at every task and if managed too succeed it was only because he had been cheating. Ping was a thorn in the foot of the Imperial Army, and peculiar to boot. 

Shang tried to forget Ping as he led the men running along the cliffs, the weights balanced easily on his broad shoulders. Overall, they were not doing badly so far, still lagging pathetically but at least they were still on their feet. His spirits lifted a bit with that, at least until Chi Fu came galloping beside him, smugly pointing with his calligraphy brush for Shang to look over his shoulder. 

It was Ping. Shang scowled in irritation. The little soldier had dropped facedown on the ground, exhausted under his burden. He was the only one to fall so far, the other soldiers kept a pace steady enough to finish their run. 

Throwing down his weights, Shang turned and ran back down the cliff. "Ping!" he shouted   
crossly at this untimely failure. Tonight he had hoped to prove to the old worm that he could do his duty, and now Ping had to ruin it, meaning another earful for Shang. The tired face tilted upwards, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted for air. That look stirred something that Shang quickly brushed aside in his anger. "What if this had been actual combat? I would have to risk my life to carry you out of here alive. What makes you think so highly of yourself that you're worth it?" 

Ping said nothing, but the look on his face turned tortured. Shang had no time for it, hefting the boy's burden onto his own shoulders and continuing along the cliffs, leaving Ping there spent on the ground. 

~ * ~ 

When the hush of late night darkness fell over the camp again, Shang managed to steal away for a quiet hour beside the lake, perched there in somber isolation from the others. There was a boundary that must be kept between officer and recruit, often a lonely one for the former, leaving him to take his meals alone and disappear when the nightly conversations begun. His own friends were far away, his closest companion Meng Tai-shan was still in Louyang with his uncle and the others. Over the years, they had become his family, when the scarce memories of his true family had started to fade. 

He could have told Tai-shan about the girl in the water, Tai-shan was like his brother. That thought carried his gaze wistfully across the lake, its azure depths silent and still, brushed with feathery shadows from the surrounding willows. The scene was like a painting, only missing two entwined figures against the far rock. Shang could paint a little, but doubted even his disciplined hand could capture each precious detail so well as his memory. Strange how the water's tranquil coloring had stirred up such a sense of inner conflict. He longed to run free, after that girl, he longed to forget her and prove himself his father's equal. Ah, gods, if only the heated softness of her skin would leave his memory for a moment. 

Ping, now there was an intrusion, an uncharacteristically welcomed one at the moment. Something had to be done about Ping. The other soldiers had shown promising signs of improvement today, and yet there was nothing so promising about Ping. Chi Fu would never write a decent report to his father with an unprogressing soldier like Ping among his troops. 

Resolved, he jumped down from his perch. It was no trouble to discharge a man from the army, he had only to say the young man was unfit for combat, and that wouldn't take longer than a moment to prove. It was so curious though, how a military legend such as Fa Zhou could spawn such a bumbling snip of a boy. No matter, the shame was not on Shang's head, the conscription demanded one able-bodied man from each family, and Ping was no such thing. It was unfortunate, but no real disgrace. 

There Ping was, as if he had sensed Shang's intention to seek him out. Shang watched him from behind the greenery a moment as Ping led his horse back across camp. It was late now and the others had gone to bed, but not Ping. Ping had stayed up to care for his horse, as he often did, petting and speaking softly to the animal as they moved. There was the one skill Ping did possess, great skill with horses. The boy had stopped now, face thoughtful as he dropped the reins while the horse waited patiently for him to lift the pale of water he had set outside his tent. It was almost touching, as tired and spent as Ping was, the time and care he took attending the animal. 

Sighing, Shang rubbed the back of his neck. He too was tired, and his encounter with the girl must have made him sentimental. Stepping out through the trees, Shang gathered his thoughts and conviction. Ping was a hindrance to the Imperial Army and therefore must be sent away. Decided, he took up Khan's reins and dropped them in the unsuspecting boy's hand. 

"Ping," he began quietly but still with a note of firmness. "I'm letting you go. You're not a soldier. Go home before you die in the first attack." 

Ping froze, a hundred emotions flitting across that small face at once. There was shock, then panic and then a slowly realized sadness. His eyes were almost longing as he stared at Shang, taking him aback. Then Ping turned, shapely lips drooping sullenly as he headed towards his tent. 

Shang turned away as well, fighting a pang of guilt and something else. It was better this way, he reminded himself, Ping could not endure the burdens of a soldier's life. But Shang found himself feeling as uneasy, that pang of loss again. It was much more than he should have felt after dismissing a clumsy recruit. A boy recruit. 

~ * ~ 

He was sending her home. Mulan looked down at the ground in shame as Shang - Captain Li, she corrected herself painfully - as Captain Li turned his back on her and walked away into the shadows. The disappointment in his dark eyes as he'd ordered her to leave had been as clear as the water of the moonlit stream. 

She'd only been able to stare at him while he spoke, was still unable to speak even now. The shame of being dismissed had been nothing compared to the hurt inside at being dismissed by him. That he was sending her away from him without a second thought made her ache inside. She felt almost as if leaving him would kill her. It was a thousand times worse than the ache she'd felt when she'd had to leave him in the river the night before. 

He saw nothing worthwhile in Ping, that was clear. And he probably only viewed his moments with her by the rock as another night of pleasure. A spark of sudden anger made Mulan frown and raise her head. The first thing that caught her attention was the tall pole in the exact center of camp, the arrow Shang had fired that first day still stuck near the top. It just sat there, Shang's silent challenge to the men to prove themselves worthy. That was a word he had used often, worthy. 

Turning to face the pole, Mulan stared at it in sudden determination. There was nothing she needed more at this moment than to prove to herself, and to Captain Li Shang that she was worthy. And then maybe, once she'd had his respect, and this war was over, she might tell him the truth. Her heart quailed at the thought, but she nodded firmly anyway and stepped over the pole. What had he said, that you shouldn't be afraid of suffering? Well, she wasn't afraid. 

~ * ~ 

The clatter of horses' hooves drummed wildly through the green fields on the lower mountain slopes, It was springtime, the afternoon warm under a painfully blue sky. But he hardly noticed that clear sky or his lush surroundings, his eyes fixed on the small rider ahead him. She seemed one with her mount, riding the horse bare-back, arms flung forward around its neck, letting her hair flail wildly in the wind behind her 

Yet he was still struggling to stay atop his own horse, twice already the beast had thrown him off onto the grass. Increasing the pressure of his knees, he shifted his weight to balance himself while he urged the horse faster to keep up. 

Raising only her head, she turned around, slowing the horse to a trot. "Today I will teach you how to tame horses," her smile held bright amusement. "Tomorrow I will show how to control the floods of Wushan." 

Never taking his eyes from her face, he managed to bring his horse to a halt. "You still haven't given me your name." They had been riding for an hour, and last night he had met her by the shores of the lake, enamored of each other already. 

Drawing her horse closer, she raised her chin, regal and proud. "My name is Yaoji, or Yunhua Furen. I am the daughter of the Queen Mother of the Western Skies. I saw you sleeping by the lake and admired your proud and noble bearing. As you slept I could see into your heart, that you are a good man, and so must I teach you ways to help your people." 

He was stunned. Madam Cloud Splendor. Why would a goddess take such interest in a tired king? He could only smile back at her, touched by her compassion and beauty. 

"Aren't you afraid?" He asked her quietly. "If the Queen Mother were to become angry with you for staying away so long she might punish you and banish you to the mortal realms forever. It is a disgrace, to be condemned as a fallen immortal, one you do not deserve." 

Dismounting, she stepped very close to him, folding her arms under across her chest, tossing her hair back with a slight stubborn shake of her head. 

"All life is a manifestation of the Dao, it is my duty to help preserve it. Every year hundreds die because of the floods, but until I met you last night I have not seen a man noble enough to trust. You may see it as disgrace. But I know my actions will bring honor to my heart, therefore I am not afraid to suffer the consequences." 

All he could do was stare at her in admiration, such nobility, such courage. 

"But for now," she continued, climbing on her horse's back as if remembering something in a sudden hurry. "I must go," 

"Wait!" He called after her, reaching out a hand. "Please, stay," 

Smiling sadly, she did turn around, steering her horse beside his, close enough for her to touch him. Her fingertips stroked the side of his face a moment before she pressed her lips against his. 

But she had moved away before he could reach for her, sending her horse galloping through the trees. He watched her, confused and broken-hearted, fingertips touching where her lips had been. 

Digging his heels into the horse's flank, he began to chase after her, searching through the trees for some sign of where she had gone. There was nothing, only dark shadow and greenery wherever he looked. Giving up, he dismounted and laid down tiredly on the grass, overcome by a sudden emptiness. 

~ * ~ 

Madam Cloud Splendor, Shang awoke with a start, realizing his fingers were still pressed to his lips, the feel of her mouth still lingering. He drew his breath in a long, sad sigh, surrendering a moment to the loss he felt, the ache in his heart. 

It was that same story of the King of Xia, and the goddess Yaoji who had taught him to tame the floods that caused untold destruction each year. For centuries the people had honored her for her self-sacrifice, helping the King at a risk to herself. 

But it was the sound of cheering that interrupted his thoughts and stirred him out of bed. Draping his shirt, he stepped into his shoes, pondering the miracle that his men had actually risen early. No doubt they were cheering to find Ping gone. Ping was gone, that recollection made him stop and frown though he did not know why, most likely because he was going to miss having someone to bully. 

Stepping out of his tent, Shang rubbed his eyes in surprise. There on that tall pole in the middle of camp surrounded by cheering comrades, sat Ping. Tiny, and exhausted, the first rays of the sun illuminated Ping's triumphant expression as he freed the arrow fired there and hurled it at Shang's feet. Picking up the arrow, Shang smiled, amused, disbelieving. Proud. 

He made his way over to Ping as the boy slid down, catching his slender arm to keep him from falling on legs that looked more than wobbly from the effort. "Ping, you've done well." He gave Ping a congratulatory pat on the shoulder for emphasis. 

The joy in his answering grin bordered on elation. "I have, sir?" he sounded completely unaware, then glanced back at the tall pole, blinking incredulously. "Does that mean you won't send me home?" 

"Very well, Ping," he had to chuckle a little, wondering why anyone would stay here by choice rather than return home to their family. "Stay. But you should rest and have some water now." It surprised him that the words had turned soft, almost affectionate. It was hard not to feel affection for someone with that much determination, but Shang was not one wont to express it. He looked the boy over, brow beaded with sweat, cheeks crimson from pride and exertion, the little mouth barely able to cease smiling. He looked so uplifted, had Ping been a girl Shang would have called it sweet, pretty. 

Ping faced him, offering a hearty salute, open palm over closed fist. "Yes, sir!" Before dashing off to his tent with a newfound alacrity. Shang watched him go, light and lithe as he moved across the grass. He found himself studying the small lines of Ping's figure longer than he should have, but perhaps it amazed him that such a small creature could manage such strength. Perhaps it amazed him that this time he took no shortcuts. Climbing the pole in itself would have been a miraculous feat, but he had approached the challenge honorably, just as Shang had set it, with the weights on his wrists. 

It was a distraction to turn to his men again. 

"Your comrade Fa Ping has set a standard which you all will follow. From now on, all of you will be able to retrieve that arrow as Ping has done. If you cannot, you will be sent home to your families in disgrace, unworthy of the Chinese Imperial Army. I hope you will find new respect for your comrade Ping." 

Yesterday, Ping had given Shang fits, today he gave Shang new hope. 

~ * ~ 

Ping's triumph spawned a new confidence among Shang's troops, a turning point of sorts. The next morning when Shang faced them in formation he could not help but notice his men had mastered the physical discipline that made a soldier's bearing. They stood straighter, wore their clothes neater, took some pride in themselves. After that, they complained less during the practices, boasted over what they accomplished and became enthusiastic in bettering their comrades. Shang felt for once that he really was in the command of soldiers, not just grumbling conscripts in sloppy uniforms. 

During that week, it was Ping who stole most of his attention. Ping seemed to take a special thrill in proving him wrong, flashing Shang a smug grin every time he succeeded at something that had given him trouble before. 

They entered a contest of wills. Whatever he could do, Ping could do better. It began with   
simple things, like Ping having to be in the lead in the morning run, which demanded Shang be the first to disarm him in a sparring match, as a matter of revenge. They became engrossed in it, their little game, until Shang found himself thinking up new challenges for his men just to see how Ping would match up against him. They never spoke much, outside of practice, but Shang found his thoughts occupied with Ping, so much that his fixation on the girl in the water began to fade. It was mere annoyance, Shang dismissed it, he was too used to being unrivaled and superior at every task in camp, his pride could not suffer the rise of an equal. An officer was supposed to dream of training men to be even better than he, but with this rag-tag troop that goal had seemed so unattainable the reality was hard to swallow. It was that, and nothing more. In a few days, his obsession with Ping would subside. It wasn't as if he were... as if he were in love with the boy. 

"Sir!" A voice called for him as he stepped out of his tent that afternoon. Shielding his eyes from the sunlight, Shang spotted Ping running towards him from across the field, as energetic and enthusiastic as ever. He paused in front of Shang, gazing up at him with those bright eyes, standing no higher than his shoulder. He was so little, so slight, but so vibrant. "I've been practicing again, those Shaolin moves you taught us, I think if I ever met Shan-yu face to face I could take him. I'd use a couple good kicks to make him regret ever invading my country." 

Shang stared at him, this diminutive boy with his childlike energy, dreaming of glory no doubt. Ambition, not the mark of a soldier, but of a leader. "How old are you Ping?" he asked thoughtfully. There was nothing so strange about showing interest in the lives of his men. 

"Seventeen," the boy declared proudly. 

"Seventeen," Shang nodded inwardly, five years younger than he was. "Alright then, Ping." Stepping forward, he shed his robe with a shift of his shoulders, wondering briefly why Ping never did the same. The boy only stood there, but his face had changed, eyes widening as if amazed by something. "A little simulated combat, if you will. Let us pretend that I'm Shan-yu, we'll see if you can defeat me." 

That rosy mouth curved into a mischievous smile, rounding his cheeks like spring peaches. "Sir, I will show you no mercy." A flutter of something stung the pit of Shang's stomach, the words were flirtatious, the smile open. He wanted to ask Ping to say those words again. 

Dropping into a fighting crouch, Shang advanced on Ping. Stretching his hands in combat formation, directing his energy there. He went for a chop to Ping's breast, a trusty place to direct the force of a blow. Ping's reflexes took over fiercely, as if he thought Shang meant him serious harm, dropping to the ground on one hand, swinging both legs to knock Shang back with a kick. He did not loose his footing though and caught Ping's knee, turning him face down on the grass and pouncing on his back. 

"You need a little more practice, Ping," he mumbled into the boy's ear. "If I was really Shan-yu your neck would have been broken by now." 

Breathing heavily, Ping's lower body squirmed under the weight of Shang's knees. "If you were really Shan-yu, sir, I wouldn't lie here and take it." 

Ping may have been tiny, but by now he had learned the focus to find advantage and strength, becoming a formidable opponent. Reaching behind him, he gripped Shang's waist, thrusting his body to push both of them up on their knees. 

"Faster, Ping," Shang chided. "I could have killed you by now." 

Wrapping one arm around Ping's neck and other around his chest, Shang meant to throw the boy to the ground again. But his opponent had something else in mind. He delivered a hard kick to Shang's side with his right foot, the impact breaking Shang's grip, wrenching around in the captain's hold to shove his knee into Shang's chin and scramble to his feet. 

"Well I'm still alive!" Ping declared proudly. 

Not willing to give, Shang quickly rose, advancing again in a high speed progression of kicks and blows, a lethal dance across the grass, both of them masterful at the blocks and turns. After a few vigorous moves, Shang seized an opening, hooking one arm around Ping's middle, driving his foot into Ping's instep to throw him off balance, falling light and fragile like a girl in Shang's arms. 

Shang chuckled. "Don't start boasting yet." 

Ping groaned as his back hit the ground, even with Shang to soften the blow. The scrawny soldier quickly twisted around under Shang's grasp, one bent knee gripping Shang's hip for leverage as he tried to pin him down. Not about to concede, Shang flipped him over easily, both of them flailing arms and legs to hold the other down, Ping stubbornly refusing to give up. 

"Oh, come, sir," his opponent panted, turning his head. "You know you'd be disappointed in me if I gave up so easily." It was true, Shang was half provoking the fight. "Tell me I'm good, sir," he pressed playfully, enjoying the struggle. "Tell me I'm a worthy opponent." 

Shang closed his eyes, his blood rushing faster as he became more aware of the writhing figure beneath him, entangled in his limbs, thighs pressing his. So small and energetic, wriggling under him as tirelessly as a courtesan with bound feet. He stopped himself, cheek against Ping's collarbone, the boy's heartbeat as heightened as his. The taste of soft skin permeated his memory, faintly salty yet tantalizingly sweet. His hand reached up involuntarily, stroking a lazy finger down Ping's cheek. The boy stilled under his hand, eyes filled with warmth as he gazed back at Shang, as if he could sense the memory in him and the lingering sense of loss. But there was more to that look, a spark of something, a kind of admiration but much more. 

In another moment Shang recovered himself, the only thing he could do rather than allow himself to become openly aroused pressed so close to the boy. He stood up quickly to declare himself the winner. 

"Give up, Ping," he prompted, but with a slight reluctance. 

Instead of answering, Ping jumped to his feet as well, leaping in the air to land a kick to Shang's jaw, laughing as the captain fell back on the ground. 

Shang swore, rubbing his jaw, but he managed a smile. "Don't be so smug, Ping, I'll have my revenge. One of these days I'll demand a rematch, and then I'll tell you if you're worthy or not." 

Ping was beaming. "Alright, sir, but next time I won't let you off so easy." 

Sitting up, Shang drew in a deep breath, the feel of that small body lingering. He found himself looking forward to the match for the wrong reason. It was no shame to feel desire for a boy, so it would seem from the behavior of the wealthy men that had surrounded him all his life. But it was something Shang had never imagined himself feeling, something he was not quite sure he could live with. He did not want a boy, he wanted the girl in the water. 

~ * ~ 

"You think your troops are ready to fight?" Chi Fu squawked incredulously the next evening, pacing and gesticulating with his brush. "They wouldn't last a minute against the Huns!" 

Shang cringed, but tried his best to endure it. If bullying him around was the only control the other man had in his life then so be it. He was pathetic anyway, everyone despised him, most of all Shang. One day though, Shang's patience with him would reach its limit. 

"They completed their training," Shang insisted as patiently as he could. The truth was, he was worried. The men had been complaining for the past two days, three and half weeks had gone by now and still they were in camp. Any good commander knew that morale was the secret to a victorious army, an army untied in purpose and confidence. Shang was afraid keeping them here much longer would hurt that newfound morale, causing everything to fall apart. When morale feel he would lose discipline, and without discipline how could his men have any skill? He did not explain this to Chi Fu of course, Chi Fu had not read the military books and would not understand. He was a political man who understood nothing of honor or glory, only how to curry favor and gain for himself. Shang had promised his men that honor, the chance to defend their country and their families. 

Chi Fu only scoffed, scratching something on the page irritably. "Those boys are no more fit to be soldiers than you are to be Captain. Once the general reads my report, your troops will never see battle." 

The words hurt, no matter how he tried to tell himself that the man was a fool. Chi Fu knew those words would hurt him, he wouldn't have said them otherwise. He was that kind of man, not a man at all. 

"We're not finished," Shang rose, a threat in his eyes as he stalked over and grabbed the other man's tablet in his rage. 

Their eyes locked, Shang could spy the spark of fear. It calmed, pleased him to see it. 

Prying Shang's fingers away, Chi Fu dropped his eyes, feigning a haughtiness that was really poorly masked cowardice. "Be careful, Captain," he warned firmly. "The General may be your father, but I am the Emperor's Council. You are dismissed." He gave a final flourish of his brush. 

Storming out of the tent, Shang was still seething inside when he came face to face with Ping. He was so blinded by his rage that he would have strode right past the boy had Ping not spoken. 

"Hey!" Ping called to him roughly. "You hold him and I'll punch." 

Under his anger, Shang wondered if Ping had been drinking. What kind of naive and ridiculous idea was that? Shaking it off he brushed right past him, too nettled for conversation. But as he turned to walk away, the voice that followed him was not Ping's. 

"For what it's worth, I think you're a great captain." 

He stopped, completely frozen for a long moment. That voice, a woman's voice, he knew it so well. That voice had murmured in his ear for two weeks now in his dreams, pulling him into sleep willingly. It was the voice of that girl. 

A strong sense of apprehension took hold of him, eyes darting left and right to be certain no one was around, no one to hear and recognize the words of a woman, especially Chi Fu. He felt trapped, powerless, as if his secret in the river had been exposed to the whole world, as if any chance passerby could read the memory simply by watching his face. He wanted to hide, hide from Ping, to bury this secret where no one could find it. 

Was he dreaming? Only Ping stood there when he turned around, small and innocent as he smiled at him. That precious silver voice had come from Ping? He half smiled back, of all things, smiling became reflex in response to that voice. Things began to make sense, the strangeness surrounding Ping, the determination to not be sent home, that amorous look when they had sparred last days ago, the ache in his heart when he thought Ping had gone home. 

Ping was a girl. In that cautious look back, Shang could not help but imagine Ping without the soldier's uniform, hair falling freely, small body arching for him in the moonlight, eyes demanding more and more. He could feel her biting down on his shoulder, bare breasts brushing his chest. He had been pleasuring Ping. Of course it was Ping, that same inexperienced determination, the sensual curiosity that was more stirring than any seasoned courtesan. It had been her first time clearly, but she seemed to know what she doing without trying at all. 

He wanted to turn back to Ping, to force him - her - to confirm the truth, unsure of whether he was afraid, delighted or angry. But he could not do that, not yet. Not until... what? he met her in the river again? That was a vague hope he dared allow himself as he walked away. Maybe she would realize her carelessness tonight and come forward to confess to him, She had to, it was a matter of honor. 

~ * ~   



	2. Part Two

Madam Cloud Splendor The rhythmic trot of Shang's horse was more lulling than distracting, his thoughts inescapable as he led the men up the mountains, oblivious to the water color beauty of the spring sky and the misty pastels of the ground below. Four days now they had been on the march, after receiving the order from his father, four days and Ping had not confessed a word. He was angry, disappointed, expecting more honor from Ping. How long did she intend to carry out this masquerade? And why? His temper flared even more that the issue stole his elation at his father's request, a request he had been dreaming of for some time. 

There were several reasons why he kept Ping's secret to himself, the foremost being he did not want to explain how he knew. Who was there to tell? Chi Fu? The uproar that would cause could destroy everything he had worked so hard for. The fact was, Ping was a favorite now, everyone's friend. Camaraderie would hold them together in battle. No, the balance was too delicate yet for him to dismiss Ping, disgrace her, not when the grounds could disgrace him as well. It was forbidden for an officer to have such relations with his charges. There went the idea of confronting Ping and ordering her to leave quietly. Then there were his private reasons, the selfish need to be close to her though he had purposely not spoken to her in days, and of course the desire to puzzle out her motive for his own satisfaction. Reporting her was out of the question, the law demanded death for a woman in the army. Why should she die? What had she done wrong but excel as a soldier? Had it not been for the encounter in the water he never would have suspected, how could he expose her after that? That could be dangerous, she could come up with a lie out of desperation, saying he had forced her and she had disguised herself as a soldier for fear of what would happen when she returned home. That accusation could hurt him and his father's career badly. 

None of that answered the question of why she had come in the first place. He wondered briefly if he was in some danger, if Ping was a spy. That seemed unlikely though, Ping was genuinely innocent in the ways of the world, and Shang had spent enough time watching the girl in secret to know she wasn't about anything suspicious. What would a spy be doing with Fa Zhou's conscription notice? A thing impossible to forget. The Fa family lived in the south, a region not penetrated by Huns. Then there was another possibility, one he hoped and dreaded all at once. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Ping was not a girl at all. 

"Soldiers!" Shang turned to his men suddenly, he had been silent for too long. Steering his horse around, his hand made a sweeping gesture towards the view over the cliff. "Look at your country." Pale green grasslands stretched below, clusters of tiled rooftops and trees, farmland along the Yellow River, the very life of China itself. "This is what you are fighting for. It is worth more than your life, it is worth more than all of your lives combined." His eyes fixed themselves on Ping in the crowd of intent faces, the words for her, to remind her of the seriousness and consequences of her charade. "If you are willing to die for it, that is honor. If you are afraid, it is no shame. We are all afraid. But do not be afraid of fear or pain and you will be worthy." Ping, he pleaded silently as he watched her, this is not a game. Don't be afraid to confess, no matter the reason. He would not harm her, but he could not promise the same were Chi Fu to discover her. 

Ping's eyes met his unflinchingly. Whatever her reason was, it was clearly worth dying for. 

~ * ~ 

They camped that night on the lower slopes of the mountain, snow-clothed peaks looming above them, the higher terrain Shang hoped to reach tomorrow. He sat alone, staring into the fire, watching the flames dance and toss amber sparks in the air. Such a simple and natural thing to steal his attention so completely. It was not the fire itself, it was Ping, her face racing to the front of his thoughts as usual. He could not have been wrong. 

Rising to his feet, he let the fire die, looking around the mountain camp. Everything was quiet, soldiers in their tents, a sharp hush in the air. He wrapped his robe around him though it was not really cold, not yet, making his way across camp after smothering the flames. Tonight, Shang was determined to be certain about Ping. 

Her tent was not far from where he had been sitting, shadowed by the trees, concealed from the eye just as the truth of its inhabitant was. Shang paused outside, eyes scanning left and right for a chance witness but saw none. He should not be doing this, the qualm became strong as he stepped inside, it was not honorable to unveil one who wished to remain masked, even in private. It was not honorable to creep into a woman's private space without her permission. There was a boundary to respect between men and women, even here. But he could not turn around, he must know, promising himself that after that he would not come here again. 

Sinking to his knees, he watched her lay motionless on her narrow bed, turned away from him, slender figure tangled in the single blanket, exposing a bare foot. He dared shine no light here, but left the tent flap open a finger's width, allowing the moon's glow to paint her in shadows before him. Unruly strands of hair formed an ebony arch across her face, small and pale now in the darkness. He raised a hand, but did not touch her, only found it nearly trembling as the breath escaping her lips brushed his fingertips. His eyes flickered to that small exposed foot, having never seen it bare before. It was too delicate and slender to be a boy's. Pressing his eyes closed, he relived a small glimpse of that tapered ankle moving away from him through the water. It was her, that revelation a relief and a torture all at once. 

That was the moment he should have backed away, satisfied, but instead found himself leaning closer. His blood began to warm as he buried his face in her neck, drinking in the scent of her that stirred him like a physical touch. "Ping, sister goddess," he breathed the name in her ear with a barely audible groan, parting his lips to taste her skin again. 

When she stirred, a shock ran through him, sending him backing away several inches. She turned, laying her head back, eyes still closed, a small sound escaping her lips as she ran a hand over her breast through the blanket. 

"Shang." The rapport with which she murmured his name drew a shiver from him, the first time he had ever heard her say it. He crouched there, frozen, the feeling both poignant and enticing. A part of him begging to crawl back to her, wake her and confess he knew her secret, promise to protect her if only she would let him have her again. The rest of him new better, that this was why he should never have come here in the first place. Sadly resolved, he inched only near enough to check her breathing. She was still asleep. 

~ * ~ 

If Shang had been avoiding Ping before, then there was no word to describe his behavior towards Ping the following morning. He did not even dare to look at her. The incident in her tent last night had been more puzzling than the encounter in the river, mostly because that had been completely by chance. If he would go as far as to break decency by creeping upon her while she slept, what was next? Forcing her? He had to keep to rigid restraint from now on, this had gone too far. 

Cold winds swept down through the peaks as they climbed into the alpine terrain, the first signs of snowfall dusting the paths now. Shang tried to concentrate on his surroundings, trying to shut out the conversation behind him. His soldiers were discussing women, and forcing Ping to contribute, even Chi Fu had joined them. At any other time, Shang might have been amused at Ping's apparent discomfort, instead he found himself irritable every time he glanced back to see Yao or Ling handling the girl as roughly as if she were one of the men. It made him seethe to see Ping allowing it, clearly fond of the pair and their antics. 

Shang's eyes began to tear suddenly as a fierce gust of wind whirled through the slopes, carrying the sharply acrid sent of something burning. The closer he rode the more the smoke stung his eyes, the sky hazed before him where a smoke cloud hung just over the peak. He stiffened nervously in the saddle, yielding to the climbing sense of danger. There should be a village on the other side of that peak, his father's troops camped a few miles beyond at the Tung Shao Pass. 

As he led the men around the turn, the bitter smell wafted much more acutely. Rubbing his eyes vigorously, Shang blinked, recoiling physically at the ghastly scene before him. The smoke was so thick that at first the captain did not see, but when his vision cleared he saw nothing but emptiness and ruin before him, Skeletons of houses still burned wherever he looked, wafting tall plumes of smoke under the russet haze of the sky, embers still danced here and there, but there was nothing, nothing but devastation. 

Wheeling his horse around he faced his troops, their presence almost forgotten all together. "Search for survivors," he ordered briskly, before galloping off again in a swirl of red cloak, his horse's hooves kicking up something on the ground. There were no survivors of course, but he knew nothing else to say to them. 

Dismounting, he found himself beside Ping, comforted by that. Her head was bent, clutching a discarded doll in her arms, her face a grieving mask under her helmet. She looked ready to cry. 

"I don't understand," he mused weakly. "My father should have been here." Why did the General not protect these villagers? His father was always victorious. Shang had heard of destruction like this since his childhood, nightmarish tales of the Huns reaping untold misery upon his people, no prisoners, no survivors. 

Ping turned to him, a question of her own in her eyes. They stared at each other, neither having an answer. He wished she would have gone home, this was not a game or a contest of wills anymore. This was nothing for a young girl to see. 

"Captain!" Chi Fu's cry cut through his thoughts, not nagging, but urgent. 

Turning from Ping, Shang made his way up the shallow slope to where Chi Fu was standing, the wind tearing roughly at his clothes. He blinked, the sight below could not be real, it was as if all those monstrous tales of murder and savagery had sprung to life in that canyon. There, over the cliff, the entire Imperial Army had been slain. As horrified as he was, he could not take his eyes from the carnage. So this was war, this was the glory his father had promised him? He thought he could search and search forever through that graveyard and would never find it. 

But someone else was approaching him now, ascending the slope. Ping's friend Chien Po held some object out for him to take, a helmet. Shang blinked, too stunned to make the connection right away, to recognize the bent plumes adorning the crest. His father... His father had fallen in the slaughter. 

No, not General Li, the proud and victorious, the Emperor's greatest general. If his father had fallen, the world might as well have fallen too. There was no hope to win the war without him. Turning away from his troops, he dropped to his knees in the snow, offering a prayer that his father's spirit might be appeased, and not remain a ghost in the mountains forever Then there came footsteps, then soft words. 

"I'm sorry." 

He rose to face Ping, staring into her eyes. They were trying to tell him something. How he wished then to return to Wu Zhong, to that night in the river, before his father died. Reaching out, he laid his hand on her shoulder, the way one comrade would to another. Then he walked back to face his men again, his steps measured and solemn, leaning his forehead on his hand for a pained moment before climbing into the saddle. Snow was falling, soon it would bury the dead, trapping them forever in these icy highlands where their unappeased spirits would roam. But he was left in command now, he had his duty, with his own words to remind him as he looked out over the cliff once more. 

This is what you are fighting for, it is worth more than your life... you must not be afraid of suffering. 

Tugging at the reins, he circled around to his men again, his grief numbed somewhat by the impending crisis. "The Huns are moving quickly," he announced in a voice that was surprisingly firm. "We'll make better time to the Imperial City through the Tung Shao Pass. We're the only hope for the Emperor now. Move out!" He rode away, further into the mountains, leaving his father's ghost behind him. 

~ * ~ 

Shang secluded himself in his tent immediately after they broke camp that night, lying on his bed with his face in his hands for long hours, thinking. His father was gone, there would be no chance to prove himself worthy in his father's eyes, no chance to show him how he hard he had worked to keep his promise. His father was simply never coming back, that concept becoming harder to fathom the more he touched it with thought. 

Sitting up, he reached for the bottle on the bedside table. It was Du Kang, a potent liquor, and a good remedy for one's troubles. Propping himself against the pillows, he took a tentative taste of the yellowish stuff, the first sip burning as always though the hot flavor was not unpleasant. He drank more and more, head swimming with memories of his father until the bottle was emptied. Shang tossed it aside to lay there dizzily, shirtless on the bed, no longer feeling the alpine cold. Liquor never seemed to have a very sedative effect on him, not like opium or rice wine. That suited him, because sleep was the last thing he wanted. Instead he was restless, euphoric, but restless. 

"Sir?" Someone was calling for him. He tried to stand, legs wobbling, no longer adverse to the prospect of company. It was Ping, he realized after a few shaky moments of fighting to regain his balance, starting to rush outside towards her. She was already standing there inside his tent, holding a tray in her arms. A broad smile broke across his face to see her, a sight so distracting that his balance wavered in his drunken state and he found himself slumped on knee on the ground. 

"Ping." He grinned up at her clumsily from his place on the floor. 

Her expression turned worried, looking him over with a pitying shake of her head, setting the tray down beside the empty bottle on the table. Picking up the bottle, she gave a disapproving groan before setting it down again, nose wrinkling at the strong liquor scent that still lingered. "I brought you something to eat," she said finally. "You've been here for hours without taking any dinner. The men are worried about you, but are too scared to bother you." 

"And you're the only one aren't you, Ping?" His gaze was unsteady. "The only one brave enough to traverse this camp and save the tiger from himself." 

Pausing where she stood, Ping stared, confounded. "Sir?" 

Shang only chuckled, hardly giving thought to the words he spoke. He was tired of thinking. "You don't have to call me that anymore. I have a name, Ping, say it." He wanted to hear her say it again, like she had in her dream last night. Was that only last night, he wondered dizzily? It seemed years ago, when his father had still been alive. 

As unhappy as she was over his drunken state, she did smile a little. "Alright then, Shang, look what I brought you." Pointing to the tray, she indicated a bowl of stew, dumplings and steaming tea she had collected, and even a fresh peach. "You're lucky we were supplied well just after leaving Wu Zhong, and food keeps better in the cold. Maybe if you eat something your head would be clearer. Maybe you should have some tea and try to sleep." 

Since when had she been appointed to look after him? He was amused, thought still frustrated. How did she think to hide her true identity from him? Only women acted this way, bullying a drunk man with a meal and sound advice, pretending to be gentle and caring while their eyes scolded. He had a mother, he knew what women were like. Why wouldn't she confess? Did she not trust him enough? 

Shang found the bowl of stew pushed in his hands even before he had agreed to eat it, but grabbed the chopsticks anyway. It was impossible, his fingers were about as steady as water trying to manipulate the things. Grinning up at Ping sheepishly, he held the chopsticks out to her for help. 

Sighing, she knelt down on the floor beside him, taking the chopsticks and feeding him slowly, the look on her face was one of mild embarrassment. He was too drunk to feel the same, he only felt an unnatural euphoria masking an intangible grief. But Ping was beside him, feeding him like a child, and even though he had avoided her she had come to care for him faithfully, holding no grudge, expecting nothing. Did she think so little of herself? Was that why she had held on to her secret? She deserved love, why could she not see that? 

Those tender thoughts were so soothing, merely to hold them in his mind. He could be the stern commander by day, guarding this hidden gentleness to show her at night. The wantonness of that thought startled him, he must be very drunk to think he could treat her so, to think she would allow it. 

"Shang," her voice was touched richly with compassion, not Ping's voice, but the soft voice of the girl in the water. "I really am sorry about your father. I can't imagine what I would do if my father died." She was sitting on the bed now, her little face drawn in worry. That struck him poignantly, that she should worry for him. 

The more the nauseating pain in his head subsided after the food, the more Shang actually felt like eating. He craved something sweet, to counter the bitter taste of the liquor. Sitting up, he reached for the fruit still on the tray, biting into it and savoring the first taste of its tangy flavor. "We have orchards at home," he told her, propping himself up with one elbow on the edge of the bed. "In Louyang the winters are not so cold and the trees bear fruit earlier. Our estate stretches for miles, orchards, vineyards, everything you can imagine grows on our land." 

Smiling, she glanced at the peach in his hand. "So you are pleased?" Her tone was hopeful. 

He nodded. "Reminds me." 

Taking another bite and then another, Shang began to notice that she was very intently watching him eat. He remembered that look, one of enticement though naive as to why. He adored that look, it was too enthralling. Envisioning that night at Wu Zhong again he found himself eating more slowly, mouth moving more attentively over the red tinted meat of the fruit, tongue vigorously lapping up the juices, oblivious to the excess dribbling down his chin. 

Ping had leaned back where she sat, hands spread behind her, gripping the blanket, her breath coming a little faster, eyes wide. 

An idea struck him then, somewhat wicked and surely one he never would have entertained sober. What if he could trick Ping into confessing? Why couldn't they enjoy another night together? He wanted her, and clearly she him. But Ping was so shy, perhaps she needed to be coaxed just a little. He could play that game if that was what she wanted. 

Crawling over to Ping, he rose up on his knees, planting his elbows on either side of her legs, holding the fruit in both hands over her. He could see her body arching slightly as he resumed eating, a shrill sigh escaping her lips when he buried his face in the fruit, its juices trickling onto her lap. Lifting his face, he wiped away the wetness with the back of his hand, chuckling at her obvious wide-eyed arousal. She could not deny who she was now. 

Letting the fruit fall, he picked up her hand, turning it over and pressing his lips to the delicate place at the base of the wrist, suckling that pressure point gently. He continued to kiss her palm, drawing on the point between thumb and forefinger, before trapping the tips of her fingers in his lips as he kissed them. She let out a hushed cry then froze, stiffening as she must have realized the danger to her masquerade. Poor naive Ping, believing she still had him fooled. 

Dragging himself even closer still, he finally dropped her hand and laid his head on her knee. "Ping, my head is throbbing. I just want the pain to stop." 

"Then why did you drink so much?" She scolded quietly. Not waiting for an answer, she sighed, placing her cool fingers on his temples and rubbing them gently. Wincing at first, he allowed himself to relax under that calming touch, cheek pressed against her, filling his scenes with the sharp aroma of citrus, and the warm scent that was just her. "Lay down," It was a patient order, resigned to his drunkenness. 

Nodding obediently, he managed to pull himself on the bed, stretching out facedown with his head resting on folded arms, sighing, but at ease. She crawled up beside him, laying those cool hands on his shoulders and kneading his skin, relieving the ache of tense muscles strained from days of practice and worry. He groaned appreciatively, closing his eyes and adjusting his head to get comfortable, those small hands amazingly skilled at drawing out soreness. It was unmistakably a woman's touch, not the rough hands of a military doctor. 

"I guess I should apologize for causing you so much trouble," she said thoughtfully from behind him. He bit his lip as her hands moved in circles over a particularly painful spot beneath his shoulder blade, then let out his breath at the warm feel of her climbing over his hips to work her hands over his spine and lower back. It was impossible to ignore the pressure of her thighs against his back, causing him to tense a little, pulse rising. "I didn't think about how much I might have been contributing to your stress." 

He found himself smiling. "You're more than making up for it, Ping." 

It was certainly true. As a soldier she owed him nothing, and still she had come to tend him and feed him. She owed him nothing, nothing but a confession. 

Shifting under her, he leaned on his side, just enough to turn his head and look at her. There was something in his gaze that seemed to unground her, unmask her, leaving the eyes that met his filled with nothing but shy warmth. He was a fool to fall into them, clear dark pools hiding secrets, answers, drawing him in to drown helplessly. His hand reached out, cupping her chin, forgetting his caution and pretense as he pulled her closer, tasting her lips with a long, deliberate slowness then drawing back to watch her face. 

Beautiful, so heart wrenchingly beautiful... If only he could free her hair, runs his hands through it, the way he had in the river. 

"Do you do this with all your men?" She feigned playfulness, but under that he could see she was afraid, afraid for the safety of her secret. 

His thumb stroked gently across her lower lip. "No, only you." It was a warm feeling, to see how she softened with those words, to watch the fear leave her. It meant something to have that power over her. He grinned teasingly to see her shed the hesitation. "Haven't you ever been kissed before, Ping?" 

"Not like that." 

Ah, the music of her natural voice again. Under the delusion of the heavy liquor rush he thought he could taste it sweetening the air. 

Her eyes were wide and startled at her own forwardness, she had lost her footing too, leaning forward for him to kiss her again. This kiss was longer, more rough as he pushed his tongue through her lips. Shang slid onto his back, holding her astride his hips as he slipped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. He could feel the heat and pounding of blood between her legs where she was straddled over him, his body responding likewise. 

It did not stop there. She pulled him onto his side again where he hands had freedom to roam, caressing the contours of his back which she had so painstakingly massaged moments ago, then sliding around again to explore his chest. He bit at her neck with a muffled groan as her fingertip pushed on the delicate flesh of his nipple, circling it curiously before her hands slid lower, tracing the lines and ridges of his torso. 

He laid back, pulling her on top of him again, her body draped over him as her hands continued their careful study, slipping deep inside his sash. One hand closed around the hard flesh there, causing it to stiffen madly. That seemed to please her, fascinate her, the way it twitched and quivered in her hold, her smile on that marveled at the power she had. But in another that smile was gone as hand was visible again, her look one of confused alarm. 

The torture to his body was too much. He yanked her close quickly, forcing his mouth against hers in short, demanding kisses, determined not let her stop there. 

She struggled at first, then gave in, making little whimpers of pleasure between kisses, one hand on the back of his neck, arching for him until he could feel the heat between her bound breasts, over her heart. There he was, so close to compensation for the days she hidden her true self from him, not allowing him the pleasure of her again, dominating his thoughts and driving him mad. His hand raised to unfasten the sash of her robe. 

Catching it quickly, Ping drew back from him, holding his hand a safe distance from her breast. "You know this is forbidden between comrade and officer." Her voice had lost its sensual edge, hardening to the voice of a man again. 

He closed his eyes, fighting for restraint, the frustration to feel the heat between her legs again bordering on intolerable pain. "Forget that," he half pleaded. "Don't run from me like you did that night in the river. I could not bear it." It must have been the liquor - though it had worn off somewhat - his desperation that made him speak so honestly, and carelessly. Then again, driven to that point, he was willing to beg her. 

Her face paled instantly, posture becoming rigid. "I don't..." 

"Ping," his arms tightened around her. "You don't have to be afraid. I would never hurt you." 

"I don't... " She swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut. "I don't know what you are talking about. I think I should go." Scrambling from the bed, she stopped in the entrance of his tent to salute and add a pained "sir" before hurrying into the darkness, wiping her eyes. 

She left him there, somewhere between terrible anger and the pain of his longing. 

~ * ~ 

It wasn't just the after effects of the liquor that had Shang in a foul mood the next morning. He snapped at anyone and everyone relentlessly, deserving or no. It came to a point where the men traversed through the snow in silence, afraid too send their commander into a tirade for making too much noise. It wasn't really the grueling headache that made him give that impression, it was Ping. Ping, the name sent him in a fit of frustrated rage, gripping his reins. He did not want to hear or look at Ping today. 

What did she take him for? A complete idiot? Did she think he liked men, or that he didn't know a man from a woman? He had been patient with her, he had done the honorable thing and kept her secret. He had let her stay in the army knowing she was a woman, risking much for both of them yet never demanding her motive, or anything near an explanation. He had broken the law for her and what did she do but lie to his face. She stood there and denied it, albeit uneasily, but a lie was a lie. How could she have so little honor? He felt as if she had used him, manipulated him, trading a bit of teasing to keep him from reporting her, like casting a spell. Such artfulness was for a court lady, not a village girl. But she was whoring herself just the same, and not a very good one after the state she had left him in last night. 

The thunder of an explosion rumbled from behind him. He whipped around furiously to face accursed Ping, holding Khan's reins with a pinched, worried face as the artillery cart smoked behind her, a cannon bursting into the sky. 

"What happened?" Shang growled. If she wasn't a girl he would have wrung her neck. "You just gave away our position! Now we're-" 

An arrow struck him in the shoulder, knocking him from his horse onto the cold snow. Sprawled on his back he saw bright flurries of flame, lit arrows, fired towards them. Gritting his teeth, he ripped the thing from his shoulder and turned to his men. "Get out of range!" Ambush, if they didn't move fast enough they would die. He had not worked so hard to train them only to see them killed by Ping's carelessness. 

They flailed around in a panic in the snow. Shang rose to his feet, jumping on his horse again. "Save the cannons!" He called over his shoulder. Some semblance of teamwork began as the cart caught fire. When he turned around again, Ping was facedown in the snow after saving her horse from the flames. He swore violently under his breath. If they made it out of here alive he really was going to break her neck. 

Dismounting, he gave the order for Yao to fire. His headache and anger were forgotten as years of book learning took over. Ahead of him there nothing but a screen of smoke and the white snow, the arrows had stopped. Flinging out a hand, he ordered Yao to cease firing, waiting for the smoke to clear. 

All of a sudden, everything seemed like a bad dream. On top of the slope stood Shan-yu, even from as far away as Shang was standing that demon's presence seemed to radiate doom. Raising a jagged blade with a feral cry, he sent his horse in a charge, after him came pouring the largest army Shang had ever imagined. There were thousand of them, crying, howling, bloodthirsty, and all he had was a single cannon. It was suicide. It was so unbelievable that Shang almost could have laughed, a cruel joke the god's were playing on him in answer to his prayer for a solution to his dilemma. How quickly Chi Fu's premonition had proved true. 

"Prepare to fight," he called to his men over his shoulder. It was worth dying for, he tried to tell himself, it had to be. "If we die, we die with honor." A cheap consolation, as if it would make them any less dead. 

Swords were drawn as they faces the incoming army. Shan-yu had stretched a good few yards ahead of his men. An idea struck Shang, the luxury of a small glimmer of hope. These nomad armies were not as structured as the Chinese, he remembered hearing that several times before. "Yao," he turned quickly. "Aim the cannon at Shan-yu." Kill the leader and his army breaks up quickly into chaos. Besides, if he was going to die today the man who had killed his father was not going with him. 

Obediently, Yao positioned the cannon to fire, then growled as a flicker of motion stole it from his hands. Shang twisted his head around immediately to see what it was, swearing under his breath again. It was Ping, holding the cannon under one arm, clearly gone mad. His thoughts ran rampant with suspicion, what if she was a spy and had now sabotaged his only hope out of here 

"Ping!" Shang raised a hand. "Come back!" 

The panic that rose in him was much worse than what he had felt with the first glimpse of the approaching Huns. Ping was running for Shan-yu, ignoring his shouts and the shouts of her comrades. Didn't she realize the danger, not only to herself but to all of them? She was only a few yards from the monster now, stopping to plant the cannon in the snow, grabbing the flint to light it. Shan-yu spurred his horse faster with the hilt of his sword, golden eyes wild. A falcon cried, swooping for Ping. 

"Ping!" He was holding his breath. She was so close to Shan-yu and to certain death, one in the same. Shang ran towards her, Yao, Ling and Chien Po after him, cursing her as he trudged through the snow. He had just lost his father, he could not bare to lose Ping. 

She was on the ground, fumbling for the flint again, picking it up. He froze, what was she doing? She had raised the cannon so that its target was no longer Shan-yu, then swiveling it to the right towards the tall snow peak. It exploded, soaring through the air, crashing into that peak. Shang stood mystified, how could she miss? But she was smiling. 

That snow bank rumbled, a few chips of ice falling, and then more. The thing was going to collapse. Ping had scrambled to her feet again, barely escaping the bite of Shan-yu's sword. She was running for him. He could not take his eyes from that melting peak, sending waves of liquid snow rolling down, enough to swallow an entire army. Brilliant, unbelievable. 

"Hurry up!" Her hand was on his arm. They took off running together towards the cover of the rock. Khan broke free from another soldier's hold, bounding for her. Throwing herself in his saddle, she steered with her knees to hold out her hand to Shang. He clutched it desperately, but even his iron grip could not withstand the force of the fast moving avalanche. A white and blue whirlpool tunneled around him, suddenly the little hand in his was gone as he was pulled under. 

The next thing he knew he was climbing down from her horse onto the solid gray rock of the cliff. He knelt on the ground, catching his breath, trying to understand what Ling was saying, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Ping was crawling onto the snow to sit beside him, smiling but still watching him worriedly. She had saved them all, little Ping - a tiny, beautiful girl! An entire army could not do it, but one lone woman had managed single-handedly to stop Shan-yu. 

Leaning an elbow on one knee, he stared at her, barely recovered from the shock. "Ping," he began quietly. "You are crazy, do you hear me?" Giving way to a smile, he looked down at himself before standing up. "I guess that's why I'm still alive. It wasn't exactly following orders, but you did well." Taking her arm, he pulled her to her feet, fighting back the urge to embrace her. She was safe now, and so were all of them. China owed her a debt of gratitude, him most of all. 

Letting out a cry of pain, she sank to one knee, clutching her right side. 

"Ping!" He moved closer, heart beating faster with worry, supporting her with a hand around her shoulder. "What's wrong?" Without waiting for her answer he pulled her fingers away. Blood trickled onto her hand, leaking through her armor. Shan-yu's sword must have struck her after all. Panicked at the sight of the crimson stain, he raised his head. "He's wounded! Get up and help!" Her face was paling, turned towards him trustingly, eyes narrowed in pain. "Just hold on, Ping, it's alright," But she did not seem to hear him, collapsing against his chest. 

Lowering her carefully to the ground, he wondered vaguely if anyone noticed how closely he was holding her against him. He did not care. "We don't have time to wait for the medic to get here." It was a plausible excuse, the medic was with Chi Fu and a few other soldiers back where they had camped last night, a mile away. It could take an hour for a runner to fetch him and ride back. Ping could bleed to death by then. His true motive was simple, treating the wound would involve removing her armor and shirt, revealing who she was. He had to treat her himself. "Set up a tent. We need to get him out of the cold." 

Someone handed him a medical bag, which he opened quickly to fish out cloth for a compress, luckily there were plenty of cotton bandages. He had some small experience in emergency medicine, Tai-shan had gotten himself stabbed in a tavern fight once and Shang had had an arrow in his leg before. Still, his mind was rushing through the things he had been taught, keep the victim still until the bleeding was controlled. Rolling the material into a wad, he pressed it into the hole in her armor, not gaping, but enough to warrant serious concern. He was relieved to see the cloth did not soak through all the way, the bleeding was not copious and it was slowing with the pressure he put to the wound. 

Gently scooping her up in his arms, he carried her to the white medical tent. Throwing the leather bag down, he laid Ping on the cot. There wasn't much time. He had to wrap up the wound before anyone could come in and see she was a woman. 

Pulling the leather armor from her body was difficult, but he managed it after tedious moments of trying to do so while keeping her still. He hesitated uncomfortably before peeling off her shirt, his head swimming with thoughts of the previous night. This was not the same thing, he reminded himself sharply, this was a matter of saving Ping's life. She had saved his life today, she deserved every effort he could put forth to help her now. Later, they could talk about what had happened in the river, and why she was even here in first place. He would demand answers then. 

There was already a length of pale bandage binding her breasts. He unwound it carefully, trying not to let his eyes wander to her breasts that shook as he pulled away the cloth, the little nipples pinched with cold, set like small stones in the center of the rosy circles of skin. The wound itself was not severe, not enough to need suturing, just a jagged line across her ribs, already caked over in dried blood. With all the layers of clothing it was only a flesh wound, looking worse than it was. It could have been worse without the binding around her breasts and the armor. Taking out a topical powder, he dusted the white flecks over the torn skin, an herbal remedy to speed the blood's clotting. Satisfied, he dabbed an antiseptic ointment before pulling another clean bandage to cover her again. 

Slipping the white cloth under her back, he began wrapping at her waist, spiraling around over the wound and then to her breasts again. He paused, openly staring, reaching out before he could stop himself, cupping one breast in his hand gently. The flesh was cool, pale, not sun-kissed like the rest of her, he admired it as if he had never seen a woman's breasts before. Then his hand came away with a jerk, confused and ashamed. What manner of man would touch a woman without her permission? An unmarried man and woman were forbidden to touch at all. A stab of guilt shot through him as he recalled the way she had grabbed his hand away last night. 

Finishing with the bandage as quickly as he could, Shang spread a blanket over her, standing again to collect the stained bandages and supplies. His eyes fell on her face, feeling choked inside as he glanced at the cloth smeared with her blood. She did not deserve this. Deep down, he was still so angry with her and her lie, more wounded than she was. Sighing, Shang turned out of the tent, leaving her to sleep. 

Out in the cold again, Chi Fu was waiting for him, the medic and two soldiers standing behind him. Shang concentrated all his energy into schooling his features against the crawling nervousness. 

"Captain, we heard trouble and left camp in search of the rest of you," Chi Fu scowled as if this were a great inconvenience, flourishing his hand though it held no brush. "We ran into a soldier who claimed one of your men was wounded. Doctor Kong is here to inspect." 

Stiffening, Shang searched the faces of his men. He had ordered no messenger. Ling stepped forward, expression grim, awaiting Shang's wrath. "We were worried, sir," the skinny man explained quietly. "Ping is our friend." Shang's fist clenched, wishing it were around Ling's throat. This was the very thing he had hoped to avoid. 

"Flesh wound," Shang supplied quickly, fighting to keep his features smooth as he met Chi Fu's eyes. His heart was pounding. "I was able to stop the bleeding and help Ping to lie down. He was able to administer his own medicine. I left him to clean the wound and bandage it. He's sleeping now. I think it's best to let him stay that way. He could use some opium for the pain." 

"Humph," Chi Fu wrinkled his nose with a haughty sniff. "Saving the day doesn't qualify you as a doctor, Captain. As the Emperor's Council, I demand the wound be inspected by a professional." Their eyes locked stubbornly, but Shang purposely dropped his gaze. He did not want to seem too adamant. He had no choice but to step aside for the Doctor Kong. 

~ * ~ 

He paced outside of her tent for what seemed like hours, numb to the cold, staring blankly into the misty painting of snowy mountains peaks against the sky. He felt lost, angry. If she had confessed last night they could have thought up something, some way to prevent this. But she had done nothing, forcing him to do nothing, how was he to know they would meat a Hun onslaught today? How could he unveil her, dishonoring her and all her family? It was her stubbornness that had brought this on herself, leaving him powerless to help her. That was the worst, that she had not given him the chance. 

Shang stopped when the medic stepped out of the tent, walking towards him. The shorter man began to speak softly, Shang had to bend down to hear what he was saying. "Captain, there's something you should see," the voice was mystified yet sympathetic. At first Shang did not understand. 

Realization swept over Shang as he moved towards the tent. The medic knew. Fear and dread washed over him. Of course he knew, Shang had been resigned to the fact he would know the moment he stepped aside for Kong to enter the tent. Still, nothing could prepare Shang for the reality of it. 

Her eyes were open when he entered, head resting comfortably against the pillow. A smile broke across her face when she saw him, a dreamy opium-dazed smile. She sat up, the blanket sliding from her chest, revealing the feminine figure the loosely wrapped bandage no longer hid. His eyes widened at her shamelessness, then narrowed in anger. Did she need opium to let him know the truth? 

"I can explain." She clutched the blanket to her shoulders again, taking his reaction for surprise. He folded his arms, ready to finally hear it, unsure of whether he wanted to. 

Before she could get the words out, Chi Fu stormed in, stopping behind him. "So it's true!" he hissed sharply. "I always knew there was something wrong with you!" Shang turned, stalking out of the tent. He just needed some silence, a moment to think of a way out of this. 

"Shang!" She was calling his name. He squeezed his eyes shut against it. The next thing he heard was Chi Fu's voice, coming from outside the tent now. 

"Treacherous snake!" Ripping the tie from Ping's hair, he threw her down in the snow. "A woman!" The men gasped, Shang was torn between a hundred emotions. The only one he understood with any clarity was the violent longing to kill Chi Fu, to silence that voice so full of poison and disdain. 

Then her voice rang clear, pleading, strong, carrying over Chi Fu's cries. 

"My name is Mulan. I did it to save my father. I didn't mean for it to go this far. Please, you have to believe me." 

Her father? So she was Fa Zhou's daughter after all, not one of the Queen Mother's Celestial Fairies, not Yaoji? No, Mulan - Magnolia Blossom, not Ping the flower vase. So she loved her father too, hadn't she said something once... something he could not remember from last night? In the face of that towering self-sacrifice, he wished he could understand why he felt so betrayed. 

Snorting in disgust, Chi Fu whirled on Shang expectantly. "Captain!" His prompting held a near eagerness, like the masses that buzzed around a public execution. 

Execution, the word echoed as if he had never heard it before. 

Turning to face her for the first time, he held his breath. There she was, kneeling in the snow, clutching the blanket to shield herself from the eyes of her comrades and the cold, cheeks russet from the drug. He gathered the courage to stare into her eyes, they had such a hold on him. Execution, the word cut into him again, tearing at something. A sickening sensation turned in his stomach. The penalty for a woman discovered in the army was death, Chi Fu expected him to deliver that sentence here and now. Maybe she had lied, ran away and hid herself from him, knowing that he knew, but she did not deserve to die for that, not by his hand. 

"We'll take her to the Imperial City." He spoke softly, only Ping - Mulan - seemed to hear. "This is for the Emperor to decide." Facing his men, his voice became firmer, spying the relief on their faces. They wanted to save her too. "We'll camp here tonight and ride for the Capital in the morning. See that she is confined," he ordered a skinny soldier who's name eluded him at the moment. "Aside from that, do not touch her or I will have to kill you too. A woman is bad luck for an army." Superstitious nonsense, but that was what the law claimed. 

Leaving Chi Fu no room to protest, Shang turned away to gather his supplies and set up his own tent, longing for solitude. He tried to look away as Mulan was dragged to her feet and hauled into the medic's tent again. Mulan, he repeated the name in his mind, magnolia blossom. 

~ * ~ 

It seemed to happen in one long moment, the way the daylight sunk into evening darkness. The twilight here was made of new colors, the white snow mirroring the blues and golds of the sky, reflecting them faithfully. Shang marveled at the way that mirror shone back each color, even the drab gray of the rock, so honest, and all he could see in himself was a powerless anger. 

Ping, Mulan - the two names were one yet his mind used them interchangeably, held hostage by thoughts of her. The truth was, she had broken his heart. 

It was shameful and selfish to even allow himself to feel that, a bitter, stinging wound to his pride as a man. He had devoted his life to honor, the dignity his family had taught him, to let go of his desire and cling to the greater good. He had been raised with the teachings of the Dao, to always be like water, benefiting all things without struggle. But he was more like the mountains that would never know what it was to soar because they could not let go of the ground. 

Mulan was resigned to her fate, and he should be as well. She knew the price of her deceit and would pay it willingly. Her father meant that much to her. Their lie the thorn that pricked and bled him, all that devotion spent on a father. For that, he should have admired her, aligned with her, but all he could conjure was a jealous rage and betrayal. Somewhere in his heart he had hoped that he was the reason she strived so hard, the reason she was determined to stay in the army. He had hoped that she had been just as secretly driven by the desire to remain close to him as he had been to her, just to form a kinship between them. Now it was too late, he had already fallen in love and could not compete with a father. 

So he knelt there in that quiet place, far away from her and his men, the darkness deepening around him. A little wind stirred, whistling through the canyon, his father's ghost. Suddenly he wanted nothing more to feel the pain of his father's death, no liquor, no pleasure. He must teach himself to abide pain, after they reached the Imperial City he was sure to be consumed with it for a lifetime. A lifetime? The idea was intangible, he was already a ghost. Bowing low, he pressed his forehead to the cold white ground, praying to Kuan-yin. Goddess of Mercy, and all his Ancestors give him courage to at least look at her one last time. 

One last time, the words echoed as if someone had really spoken them. If he had any honor, any courage, he would go to her and say goodbye. 

Rising to his feet, he looked back at the camp, glowing with firelight. He moved like a ghost, slow, numb. 

Her tent was in the center of camp where she could be watched easily, turning several heads when he entered. Shang paid them no mind, only ordering the guard away under the pretense of questioning her, prepared to use force if he was not obeyed. It took no more than a glance. 

She was sitting on her cot, hands tied with rope and resting in her lap, forlorn face staring at nothing. A mask of forced stubbornness replaced that lost look, turning to him with eyes full of bitter accusations that she was too proud to voice. That look struck him with a stab of guilt, and then anger. How dare she be the one to claim she was betrayed? 

"I'm surprised to see you, sir," she spoke first as he closed the tent flap behind him. Four candles lit the small tent, casting a russet glow over her unbound hair. Her cheeks were still flushed, but the daze of the opium had long since worn off. "After the way you've been acting towards me today, and the way you just left me this afternoon." It was matter-of-fact, but the hidden measure of hurt grated at him. 

"Ping," he began sharply, the anger giving him confidence. He had every right to be angry with her, she had no right to be hurt. "Mulan, I mean. This never had to happen. If you'd have just admitted who you were last night when I asked you... How could you stand there and lie to me?" She started to speak, but he continued before she could get the words out. "I've known who you are for a week now and I've kept your secret for you and your family. I've been waiting for you to say something. I took a great risk today treating you, I even lied to Chi Fu and Doctor Kong for you. I respect Doctor Kong. I'm disappointed in you, playing me for a fool after that night at Wu Zhong. Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" 

She lowered her face, stammering nervously. "I... I didn't think it meant anything to you." 

"Didn't mean anything?" He repeated incredulously, it took all his effort to keep his voice down. A sinking sensation came over him, anguish, disbelief, rage. So she had used him. He felt cold, that ghost-like numbness, all the pain and sleeplessness had been for nothing, the fear of losing something that had never been his at all, no matter how much tried to protect it, buy it with loyalty. When he spoke again, the words were faint. "What kind of a man do you think I am? One who likes men? Well I've never been with one in my life." That thought infuriated the most, that he liked Ping the man. She should have known him better. 

"No...I," her words were quiet, desperate. Her cheeks reddened uncomfortably. "The men say that... that being with a girl doesn't mean anything for them. It's just that you seemed to know what... well I wouldn't know but..." The color in her cheeks was deepening. She couldn't meet his eyes. "Well, you were good, sir. " 

He stood open-mouthed, shocked and unsure of how to feel. It was the most disarming thing anyone had ever said to him. All this time she had been content to be used by him, so blind and unaware to the chaos of his feelings, feeling as if his heart had been ripped out every morning he was torn from a dream of her. How could she be oblivious to all his suffering and confusion? And how cruel the gods were, to let her realize it now on the very last night she might have. 

"That's a lie, Mulan," he said very softly, sitting down beside her. It was a lie that men told each other when they were afraid of feeling too much. "It always means something. At least it should." 

That made her look up at him, startled. He smiled a little, forgetting his anger. Then she shook her head, seeming lost again. "I feel so many things I don't understand, sir. I thought I had come here to save my father and then I... I met you. I wanted to stay, to prove that I could make something of myself, and then I saw what happened back there at the village yesterday. Then after last night, nothing made sense." 

"Mulan," he fought for something comforting to say but words failed him. "In the past two days I've learned that it's a curse to be a soldier, every day could be your last. It's a hard enough life. There are just some places a woman shouldn't be." Not a woman like her, she deserved more. 

"What?" Her head jerked up incredulously, eyes flashing. "How can you tell me that I don't belong? I've worked as hard as anyone and you want me to go home and cook a meal? Or not until I let you finish what you started last night, I'll bet." 

Shang blinked. What he'd started? "That's not-" 

"I hope it's not," she answered angrily. "Because I'm just as good as you are. I know that. I deserve respect." Her face held a familiar stubbornness. 

"Of course you do," he nodded quickly, reaching for her hands. "But-" 

Raising her knee, she knocked his hand away quickly, standing up. "I've proven it before, but you wanted a rematch, get up! I'll even keep my hands tied." 

"Ping, stop it. This isn't the time. We aren't at Wu Zhong anymore, this isn't a game." 

That spark of anger grew in her eyes, hearing no reason. "My name is Mulan, now get up!" When he refused to move she came closer, cheeks flaring with frustration and rage. "Isn't that how you men settle things? In case you've forgotten I'm going to die tomorrow, allow me some satisfaction before I do." Why was she wasting her last night on anger and pride? 

Pushed to her limit, she leapt for him, locking her knees around his waist, knocking him back on the bed. He groaned at the weight of her on his chest, then braced himself to get a grip on her and pull her off. Despite her bound hands, her body was anchored with her knees on either side of him, making him swear in frustration. Rolling onto his side he managed the throw her off, but not before she deftly tangled her knee in his, dragging them both to the floor. 

He tried to seize the opportunity to wrench his leg free, but in that same moment she had slipped her arms around his neck and one leg around his waist, securing herself to him tightly. They tussled vigorously over the floor mats, Shang struggling to free himself of her but not knowing what goal Mulan had in mind. Each time he tried to slip out from under her arms she hooked a leg around his back, sending them rolling over each other, her useless hands causing her to rely solely on her lower body for leverage. It was not a fair fight, with her wound he was too careful not to hurt her. 

Finally gripping the backs of her knees, he tossed her under him one final time, holding her down with his weight. He had intended to lay against her only long enough to catch his breath, but the squirming of her hips sent tingles through him, drawing out a groan. Suddenly the room was very still, urgently making him aware of how alone they were. 

It was an involuntary reaction when he leaned his cheek against her neck, his lips just barely in contact with the tender skin just above her collarbone. Maybe it was the memory of the sweet water he had tasted there before that made him close his eyes, suddenly motionless. She had stilled as well, resting her head back to catch her breath, yielding to the change in mood. With her pause, he became all too conscience of where he had been pinning his weight over her, of how acutely he could feel the small curve of her hip pressed into his. 

Turning her head, she let out a soft moan of exhaustion in his ear. His pulse rose with the sound, sending a rush of blood to his groin, intoxicated by the scent of sweat and warm skin. Brushing her hair back, his mouth found a sensitive spot at the base of her throat, lancing his tongue out as she craned her neck for him to taste it. Tangling his fingers in her loose hair, he pulled her head down again, locking his mouth against hers. The kiss was deep, hard, drawing a cry. The blood throbbed below his waist, pressed against the radiating heat between her legs, making him kiss her again and again, each more rough, more demanding, with such force that her whole body shook under them. He was only half aware that she had become very tense and still. 

The desperation was pushing him over a dangerous edge, remembering the feel of her in the river, the way she had teased him last night. His control was slipping. As that desperation grew stronger he began to forget there was a living being beneath him, seeing her only as something to vent his frustration and rage, a tangible release from the pain of his father's death, his anger at the law, and at her. In that inflamed state, everything was so violent. 

His hand plunged beneath her robe, groping for her sash and yanking her pants from her hips. Her heart beat faster, features startled and tense, bound arms held taught against his back. Only the arching of her hips betrayed her, just a reflex, allowing Shang to pull the loose cloth away and slip it over her feet. 

Thrusting his body against her, he pushed her legs farther apart, taunting her with the length of his erection through their clothes. Her breathing altered, his mouth buried in her shoulder, her neck, hands moving to unfasten his own sash before returning to find her bare skin again. He closed his eyes with a cry when his stiffened flesh came in contact with the moisture between her legs. 

Something inside him was fighting for control, making him open his eyes again and look at her, searching for some sign of consent, some reminder that this desperation was not his alone. His hand was gripping her thigh roughly, body poised to drive into her without a thought of how that might hurt her, lips bruising where they bit and suckled her skin. Fragmented thoughts entered his mind, memories of older comrades returning from battle, taking prostitutes for the night. It eased the pain, one officer had said, a body where they could leave their sins behind, purging themselves. Was that all she was? Was it fear that made her lie back and allow it? Or did she want it that way, rough, helpless with her tied hands, trusting him to stop if she demanded it. He wondered if he could. 

Lifting his fingers to her face, he stroked her cheek softly with his rough and calloused hand. Her eyes opened, both afraid and trusting, shining dark pools in that beautiful face. Shang drew in his breath, swelling with emotion. It wasn't the pleasure, it was wanting that made him feel alive. He loved her painfully. 

When he kissed her again it was with a coherent gentleness, as tenderly as he knew how. She returned the kiss open-mouthed, twisting her arms around his neck to run her fingers through his hair. So she had liked his earlier roughness after all. 

Shang slid his mouth along her neck again, settling once more just below her ear. "Beautiful goddess," he begged in a whisper, "say my name." Just like that night in her dream. 

Mulan only whimpered for answer at first as he let his hips grind against her, bringing their sensitive flesh together teasingly, than drawing back. 

Somehow she found a way to dig her nails into his shoulder, "Shang," crying his name in a near demand. 

Wanting to hear her say it again, he drew her earlobe into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, burying himself in the warm tunnel between her legs to ease the pain of his arousal, like opium for a battle wound. 

His motions were slow, careful to cause her no pain. He sought her waiting mouth again, tugging at her lower lip in the kiss, beginning to move faster as the pleasure increased. Her legs curled themselves around his back, body clutching his as she moved with him, breathing his name. He continued stroking her hair, kissing one side of her neck, moving faster within her until he felt her tremble, breath choked, arching wildly as her pleasure reached its peak. 

The room disappeared around him, he was only aware of her holding on to him, the pressure and heat that closed around him between her legs. "Mulan," he called out roughly, arching his neck, eyes shut, body shuddering powerfully as the pleasure crashed through his head like a shattering vase. 

Rolling off of her, Shang sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Mulan," his breathing was still heavy. Her head fell on his shoulder, and he pulled her close into his arms possessively, they way he should have last night when she had tried to run away. She hadn't run this time, she couldn't short of being killed by the guards. Suddenly his thoughts came sinking back to reality, eyeing her bare legs, the bits of armor strewn on the floor from when he had brought her here earlier. When he closed his eyes, she was lying unconscious on the bed again, bare-breasted, side bleeding. He remembered how he had touched her in her sleep, the raging demand for her that had only just subsided, the fearful look on her face when his hand tore at her clothing. Shang drew back from her stiffly. "Are you... are you alright?" 

She nodded, but her confounded look was unconvincing. "I think so." Untying her hands, he rubbed her wrists, red from the strain, before hand her the rest of the clothing again. 

An awkward silence stretched as they redressed themselves, neither comfortable enough to look at the other. She seemed embarrassed, coy, and he was more confused at himself than anything. Was it revenge? He wondered to himself, for last night? Not letting her leave this world without taking what he wanted for her. No, no, he loved her deeply, it wasn't just the haze of satisfaction that made him think that, it wasn't merely some way to justify it. He did love her, they way she never gave up, not even against an army of Huns. He would love her more once he understood the many layers of her. But how could he hope for that chance when she would die tomorrow? Executed like a criminal. 

As if sensing that thought, she sat down beside him, watching him with wistful, somber eyes. "Say you won't let me die tomorrow, even if it isn't true. Just say it." 

He tried to speak, but no words would come. He swallowed, holding back choked emotion. "I'm sorry," was all he finally managed, looking down, covering her hand with his. I'm sorry, what kind of wretched and hollow thing was that leave her? 

Lifting her face, her eyes were very bold. Time was too precious now to waste it on pride and restraint. "I want to be with you always." 

That confession was too much, like taking a mortal wound and still standing, to shaken to comprehend even the pain. He would have married her, he would have found a way. The daughter of Fa Zhou would be considered a good alliance for a military man. But he couldn't marry her, he was a living ghost and she was already dead. 

His head bent, raising the hand he had been clasping to his lips, kissing it gently. Her eyes were dry, and his. The worst pain was one that was beyond tears. "Mulan, I will..." He stumbled over the words, he never got the chance to say them. 

"Captain!" The voice of his most bitter enemy rang from outside. 

Shang's mind burned with hatred as he stood, dropping her hand so roughly that she yelped. He quickly grabbed the rope, binding her hands again, motioning for her to stay where she was as he rushed to open the entrance of the tent. 

Once again, Chi Fu was there with the guards, looking him over disdainfully. "By the state of your clothes, Captain, one would think a battle was fought in here." He gave a pungent sniff, punctuating his sarcasm, pushing past Shang into the tent. "Don't think I've forgotten who you were," he hissed, stopping directly in front of Mulan. Her look was more annoyed than hateful. "No shame at all, in the middle of your village, pleading for you father because he's a cripple. Don't put on the brave face, you're no martyr, you're nothing but a spoiled girl whose father never taught to hold her tongue." 

"Wait a minute," Shang stepped between them, turning to Chi Fu. "You drafted a wounded man?" 

The older man's face blanched, before he straightened defensively. "The Emperor requested one man from each family, clearly Fa Zhou is the only man in the Fa family. Unfortunate," he twirled a hand as if impatient to get on with the subject. 

"An able-bodied man!" Shang raised his voice raised fiercely, unrelenting. All this had happened because of Chi Fu? How could the man sleep at night? He had left Mulan with no choice but to take her father's place, what filial child wouldn't? Her death was on Chi Fu's hands now. Shang found himself wishing he had a sword, to avenge her. "The conscription called for one able-bodied man from each family. My father told me, and showed me the order!" 

Chi Fu flinched, but remained silent. He would never in his life dare refute the late General's word. 

"My father was a general for ten years." Both men turned to Mulan, her voice clear, composed. "Twenty years ago Shan-yu's father invaded over the Wall, my father led his troops up north. There was a village there the Huns had laid siege to, the last village before they crossed the mountains into Ch'ang-an. My father took a small group of men and managed to crack their defenses, sneaking inside the city walls. The Hun general and his officers were in the watch tower, all my father's men had was a cannon and their swords. My father ran ahead with the cannon into the building, causing it to explode. He thought it was suicide, but somehow he managed to crawl out when the Hun leaders were dead. It was General Li who found him, and carried him away. He saved my father's life. " 

Yes, he knew the story, his father had told him many times. Fa Zhou had been his commander, his mentor. But the old general had retired, his father had said, wanting a quiet life after all the friends he'd lost on the field. His father had never mentioned that Fa Zhou had been wounded. Shang wondered why he hadn't made the connection with the cannon sooner. Suddenly, Shang felt inexplicably close to her. His father had loved Fa Zhou so much, helping his daughter was no disgrace, but an honor to his father's memory. 

The story had not touched Chi Fu at all, standing there with same impatient dissatisfaction. "So now we have your father to thank for this recent invasion, with Shan-yu avenging his father's death. Humph!" 

Sharing a glance with Mulan, Shang shook his head. It was the Hun leader's mistake. "Never lay siege to walled cities," they echoed in unison. The worst messes were always caused by a rash man's negligence. 

With a sniff, Chi Fu dismissed Mulan entirely, turning to Shang. "The runner you sent to Ch'ang-an two nights ago has returned. The Emperor is awaiting you in the Imperial City. Your troops are to remain here. I think it best we leave the prisoner behind with them, until after you report to His Majesty. She has no place in a triumph march." 

It was a command he had no choice but to obey, Imperial orders were Chi Fu's domain. "Very well," he replied stiffly, fearful at the thought of leaving her alone with the men. 

"You'd better make haste, Captain. We must leave tonight to arrive in the Capital by morning." 

His eyes fell on Mulan despite himself, forgetting Chi Fu's presence. He would never see her again. What would happen to her here, alone, where he could not protect her? The violence in the eyes of the guard outside was enough of an indication. Shang shivered, then clenched his fist in rage, the same guard he had told not to touch her, knowing what kind of man he was. Stepping forward, he pretended to be tightening her bonds, but instead loosened them where no one could see. Even a suicidal escape attempt was better than leaving her with a soldier who had not seen a woman in weeks. 

She did not understand, of course, face puzzled. But he could not look at her too long. Making his way out of the tent, he could only see her in quick stolen glances, each one wrenching his heart. 

"Captain Li sir," her voice had become stiffly formal. He turned around, alarmed at the distant address. "You forgot your helmet, sir. Since you're leaving." 

Taken aback, he just stared at her, then glanced around the tent to see what she was talking about. There on the floor behind her lay the pieces of armor he had so carefully removed only hours ago, never collected. The helmet lay closest to her hand. Nodding as if it were a simple reminder, he stepped forward again. 

Dropping to one knee to retrieve the thing, he glanced at her again anxiously, to see why she had called him back. Her lips moved, with words so faint he rather read them than heard. "Even if I become a ghost, wandering the earth forever, I will never forget you." 

His eyes squeezed shut, fighting impossible pain. But he picked up the thing, donning it without comment, the close fitting leather hiding his face from her as he followed Chi Fu outside. 

~ * ~   



	3. Part Three

Madam Cloud Splendor And now she had to watch him walk away again. Shang's correct, perfect posture filled her eyes, bringing tears to them, but she did not cry. It was the same way he had walked away from her that night when he'd told her to leave the army. Then, she'd seen him as rigid, uncompromising, a stern captain to the bone. Now, she saw something else, something undefinable, an almost imperceptible change in how he moved. Some might say it was a softening but Mulan knew better. She touched the clothing covering the raw wound in her side. Then she smiled sadly. Li Shang walked away from her like a loyal soldier trying to conceal a painful injury, determined to do his duty. She had seen her father walk that way. 

The realization nearly made her call him back again, if only to tell him that she understood now. But she held her tongue, for once listening to the voice of reason in her head, a voice that sounded much like Shang's now. Instead she stood silently inside the tent, listening to the sounds of packing up outside. 

Soon, the rest of the men would all be gone. And then it would just be her, the guard outside with the desperate eyes, and the howling winds of the pass. Mulan glanced down at her hands, remembering Shang's last touch as he'd loosened the ropes. Then she sat down on the cot to wait, thinking of the sadness in Shang's eyes in their last moment alone, when he'd been about to speak. "Mulan...I will..." 

When the cloth door to the tent was pushed open a while later, Mulan looked up at the soldier with a faint smile. She held her bound hands in front of her. 

"Please, let me go," she asked, only the tiniest tremor in her voice. The man shook his head and grinned at her, coming further into the tent. She stood up, cringing slightly as he came closer. "Please," she said softly again, hoping that she looked as helpless as she had been only a month ago. He shook his head again, and tossed his helmet to the floor, the sense of sudden power in his eyes like the cruel light she had often seen in the face of Chi Fu. 

Thinking of him, Mulan spun around quickly, extending her leg in a strong kick to the man's stomach. With his armor on it did little more than knock him off balance, but it was enough of a distraction for her to move close enough to disarm him. 

She slid his sword from its sheath smoothly and had it at his neck in the next moment. That her hands were still bound hardly mattered. She could slit his throat in an instant and he knew it. His eyes widened to their limits with fear. A little surprised that it had worked, Mulan blinked before recovering herself. 

"What should I do with you?" she asked harshly, thinking of Chi Fu. Shang would say he lacked honor. And those without honor had no place here. She pushed the sword's edge further into his skin, cutting into the skin above his artery. Mulan watched the blood stream down his neck like a flood with every beat of his heart, then froze when a wordless roar shook the mountains. 

Before she could stop to think, Mulan flipped the sword in the air, catching it backwards, something she had only seen Shang do before. She swung it, hitting the guard on the head with the heavy hilt. She'd thrown the sword to the ground and undone the ropes around her wrists before he'd fallen to the floor. She barely noticed the blood on her hands as she crept out of the tent, only concerned with getting away. But the sight outside chilled her as the thought of that lone guard had not. 

High up the pass hundreds of figures were moving around, freeing themselves from the snow that had buried them. The Huns! She had to warn Shang! 

She ran to Khan and threw herself onto his back, spurring him towards Ch'ang-an, uncaring of her own fate. She knew her duty. She left the guard to the mercies of the Huns. 

~ * ~ 

The clamor of gongs and drums did nothing but stir an ache in Shang's head. His tired eyes did not pan over the color and canter of the Imperial City with any appreciation. He was grim, angry and exhausted. They had reached Ch'ang-an just an hour ago, and instead of discussing official business the Emperor had decided to hold the victory parade, a spectacle for the citizens. Shang did not care to be a spectacle, or to endure the thousands of adulating eyes in the crowd. He wanted to face the Emperor and be done with it, then go home to camp at Louyang and drown himself in Du Kang. Maybe Tai-shan would join him. 

He wanted to scream, to strangle the drummer before him for increasing the pounding in his head, and then the lion dancers whose movements only contributed to his nausea. The piercing blue flashes of intense pain burned behind his eyelids more brightly than any colorful festoon in the street. He hadn't slept for three days, and was ready to drop unconscious any minute. 

"Make way for the heroes of China!" An official intoned, sending the crowds parting wide in the street, all eyes fixed on him atop his white horse. Some splendid war hero, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He hated them all, and made little effort to hide it, turning the force of his glare on the prostitute who winked at him invitingly from the crowd. She flinched, fading back into the masses. I've had enough, he bit his lip to keep from yelling at them. A woman has saved you, honor her. They would be hammering for her blood tomorrow. 

Then he heard a rustling behind him, the clacking of a bridle and the clatter of hooves, a few gasps from the crowd. "Shang!" 

It was as if something had pulled out the invisible sword that had been driving so ruthlessly into his skull, triggering a double high of relief and elation. "Mulan!" She was here? Alive? Away from those guards he wanted to carve into pieces merely for the way they looked at her? 

Here? He remembered something, just barely. He had left the ropes loose so she could escape, away from harm. Here they would kill her, Chi Fu was here. Never lay siege to walled cities, his father's voice echoed through his mind. It had been his favorite saying, clearly learned from Fa Zhou. When you act boldly and rashly, the unforeseen consequence will always destroy you. 

When he turned to face her, he saw she wore the soldier's uniform. Doubly foolish, but he supposed she had nothing else to wear, hair left loose, not even attempting to disguise herself as a boy. His temper flared. Didn't she have any sense at all? "You don't belong here, Mulan," he snapped, more harshly than he meant to. The grasp he held on his composure was too tenuous now, so tired he had run out of patience indiscriminately. "Go home." If he had left her the means to escape the least she could do was make good use of that. 

Undaunted, she pulled Khan to ride in beside him. "The Huns are in the city." He kept his profile to her, trying to make it seem she was no more than a member of the crowd come to close, before someone dragged her away. He wished she would be quiet and let him worry about the Huns. Too late, she had already steered Khan in front of him, blocking his path, a fiercely determined light in her eye. Didn't she understand the danger? "Shang, I saw them in the mountains. You have to believe me." 

"Why should I?" he grumbled irritably. He hadn't meant to say that, not just that. He meant to ask her why he should care. She was already going to die, and tomorrow these people would be hungry for the sight. Why did they deserve any kind of preservation? They were not worth dying for, they were not worth more than her life. 

Her expression flickered between hurt and anger. "You said you'd trust me in the mountains, why is it different here?" 

It was his turn to flinch, no answer to that. Finally he tugged his rains and trotted his horse around her. "Get out of here," he ordered her sharply. People were already staring at her, at any moment, the wrong person would be as well. 

Leaving her behind, he dismounted, handing over his reins. The Emperor had appeared on top of the Palace steps, behind two women with crossed fans. They parted to reveal his stately, yellow clad form gliding towards the edge of the steps. 

That was his cue. He began his ascent up the steps to meet the old sovereign, parade dragon slithering behind him as he climbed. Chi Fu was there at the top, standing silent and pleased as he held Shan-yu's sword across his arms, something Yao had dug up in the snow on their way out. The sword... He blinked, eyes darting left and right suddenly. She had said Huns. A new sense of nervousness crawled under his fatigue. 

"My children!" The Emperor raised his hands, the long sleeves of his robe billowing in the night. "Heaven smiles down upon the Middle Kingdom. China will sleep safely tonight, thanks to our brave warriors!" A storm of cheers swirled up from the crowd. Chi Fu smiled, Shang lowered his head. Plainly put, he would never sleep again. 

Chi Fu handed him the sword. "Your Majesty," he bowed with a mechanic numbness, the formal words seeming to come from someone else entirely. "I present to you the sword of Shan-yu." 

The Emperor paused a long moment as Shang held the sword out for him to take. "I know what this means to you, Captain Li," his voice dropped to one of affection. Of course it was affection, Shang had known the man since he was a child. "You're father would be very proud." Shang smiled, a false smile. 

A screeching cry cut through the air. Shang looked up just in time to see Shan-yu's falcon swoop down, snatching the sword from his hands. The bird soared for the rooftop, clutching the blade in its talon's, then letting it go. The shadows shifted against the tiled roof, one of the carved statues moved, reaching a massive dark hand up to catch the blade. The figure rose on one knee, the night shadow slipping from its face like a veil, falcon alighting on his shoulder. Shan-yu. 

Shang turned, something under his weariness fighting to make sense of the situation, stirring an adrenaline rush. The dragon, the Huns were in the dragon, breaking out now and storming the landing where he stood. He reached for a weapon but it was too late, a sword hilt struck his head, causing him to fall over, vaguely aware of the massive barbarians dragging the Emperor away. High on anger and instinct now, Shang scrambled to his feet, making a run for the doors. He had to save the Emperor, and maybe he would die in the process. At that moment, he was thirsty for death. 

The doors slammed shut just as he reached them. Leaning his head against his arm he fought for a hold on himself, trying to drown out Shan-yu's rumbling laughter from the rooftop. 

"Break down the door!" Chi Fu was shrieking, as panicked as the crowd. "Get something to break down the door!" 

The other soldiers had already made their way up the steps, Yao and Chien Po heading for a lion statue. Shang ran over, helping take up the load. Between him and Chien Po they could manage it, driving the heavy bronze into the doors like a battering ram. The doors were iron, it would take too long. At this point, Shang no longer cared. As long as it looked like he was doing something. 

"Hey, guys!" They heard a whistle. "I've got an idea!" 

All eyes turned to Mulan on the platform, standing there shamelessly. Shang held his breath, not angry with her anymore. She had more honor than him, not ready to give up, not willing to die without fighting bravely to the last. The soldiers dropped their burden immediately, spirits lifted at the sight of her, running after her enthusiastically. Shang only stood there, wondering if it was all worth it. It was a suicide mission. It had been worth it yesterday in the mountains, no hope, no chance, until she had saved them. But that was before her life had been claimed by the law, the consequence that was sure to destroy him. She did not seem to care, law or no law what was right was right. Maybe if he followed her they would die together, as two ghosts, slain by that law that had no regard for innocence or integrity. No honor. 

Like a shadow, he crept after her, watching silently for a few moments where she could not see him. He could not let her see him this away, no longer a leader but a fool who stumbled from choice to choice. It was his duty as a commander to make his men believe in their mission, to lead them with strength. Who would follow a ghost? It did not matter anyway, she was in command. 

As expected, her plan was ridiculous and even given his mood, faintly amusing. She had dressed herself and her three friends in silk skirts, busily applying make-up to their faces though wearing none herself. Shang could not take his eyes from her, hidden behind the column, so willowy and graceful in a lady's dress. Grudgingly, he had to admit new respect for her companions, they endured their disguises without complaint. Even the fruit that filled out their garments. 

Realizing she intended to carry out her plan without enlisting his help, or even seeking him out, Shang ran after her, fighting a stab of hurt. Maybe after the way he had treated her a few moments ago in the parade she did not wish to speak to him at all, not that he could blame her. But it killed him, that she would end her life with ill will towards him. 

He met her as she was prepared to climb the red columns that would lead her onto the balcony where the Emperor was held. "Mulan," he laid his hand on her shoulder gently. 

Turning around, she gave him a smile that held more warmth than her words. "You're here," she said quietly, showing no real sign of hurt, but no affection either. He frowned at himself. "We could use your help, so long as you don't tell me to leave again." 

He nodded uncomfortably. "I promise," winning another smile from her. How could she be so full of faith, he wondered, wasn't she afraid? He was afraid, tired. 

Once on top of the balcony, they huddled around a corner that gave them a view of the hall. Two massive Huns stood there, guarding the tower doors, shirtless monsters with vicious, feral eyes. 

"All we have to do," Mulan was saying, "is get the Emperor off the balcony. First we need to distract Shan-yu." 

Shang shook his head. "First you need to distract the guards." 

"That's what the three of them are for," she glanced at the silk clad trio with a smirk. "Who could resist Ling's apples?" Yao chuckled, until Ling slapped him quickly with his fan. Shang leaned his sore head back irritably. How could they joke at a time like this? He supposed in some sordid way he could understand. When you were already dead what else was there to do but laugh. "I'll take on Shan-yu, and you get the Emperor, Shang." 

"You can't," he said too quickly, sharply. 

Her posture stiffened stubbornly. "Why can't I?" 

He glared at her, temper rising again. "Because you're... you're," making a motion with his hand, he looked to the others for help. A lone woman could not go up against Shan-yu, even if she was skilled at martial arts. The man was a monster, no conscience, no heart, killing thousands like a hungry beast, leaving a legacy of rape and slaughter. He would rather see her die at the hands of the executioner than... than that. "Because you're too little." He decided upon finally. "I will fight Shan-yu, for my father's sake." There, no one could argue with that. It was a matter of honor. 

"Shang, you don't look well." That made him drop his gaze, her tone too intimate for their   
surroundings. 

"I'll do it," he repeated stubbornly. "You stay here, help distract the guards. Give me the signal to move." 

"Fair enough." With a sigh, she turned to Chien Po. The bald giant frowned as he pulled a sword from beneath his dress, handing it to Shang. Mulan searched each of their faces "Any questions?" 

Yao posed his artificial cleavage. "Does this dress make me look fat?" 

Unable to resist, Shang slapped him with the back of his hand. 

Readying themselves, the four moved out from the shelter of the wall, making a slow advance on the Huns. Only Mulan managed to conjure the grace the disguise demanded. 

The guards turned, eyeing the four of them as they glided forth, hiding faces behind their fans in an attempt at flirting. An apple tumbled out from Ling's bosom, rolling on to the ground, betraying them. Shang buried his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh. But the guards were still in motion, one bent to retrieve the fallen fruit, averting his eyes just long enough for Yao to pull the melons from his bodice and slam them on either side of the guard's head. On to their ruse, the Huns advanced, but not before Ling managed to deliver a strong kick to one of them, knocking him to the ground. 

"Shang! Go!" Mulan ordered, overcoming a Hun archer with his own bow. 

Not wasting a breath, Shang burst through the doors and bounded up the steps of the tower, Shan-yu already in sight, jagged blade poised to strike the Emperor's throat. Spinning into the room, Shang skidded balanced on one hand, dropped to the ground to crash his blade into Shan-yu's with maximum force. With a growl, the huge Hun lunged for him, claws extended, flinging Shang's sword away. Gripping the column for leverage, Shang swung himself around, kicking both feet into Shan-yu's chest, sending him sprawling. He jumped on his back, the flood of violent energy almost euphoric, a killing rage. Shan-yu threw Shang under him with one powerful jerk of his body, they flailed around for a desperate moment. Slamming his boot into the other man's knee, Shang rolled them over again, throwing himself over Shan-yu's back, pinning him there with an elbow twisted behind him painfully, Shang's arm around his neck in a choke hold. The sword Mulan had given him rested below his foot, he inched his leg to slide the thing closer, where he could use it to slit Shan-yu's throat. 

Mulan rushed in, shouting to Chien Po. "Get the Emperor!" 

Through his limited vision, Shang saw the fluttering of yellow silk lifted from the ground. Mulan was standing at the balcony's edge while Yao, Ling and Chien Po used their scarves as pulleys to slide along the lantern string to safety on the ground. 

It was then Shang made his mistake, gazing up at her, eyes pleading for her to leave too. His grip loosened on Shan-yu instinctively, as if she had been the one he was holding. 

Seizing his chance, the Hun leader managed some powerful move that threw Shang off of him. He grabbed Shang before the captain could recover himself, slamming their skulls together in a fierce head butt that sent Shang rolling on his back, swimming as his earlier pain was magnified a thousand fold. He turned over groggily, ready for death, praying only that Mulan had gone. 

With that hope, he felt a small hand on his shoulder, rousing him. He would have known her touch anywhere, no matter how dizzy and half coherent. Everything seemed to pass in slow motion, his body longing for the solace of sleep, refusing to cooperate with his frantic mind. He sat up, Mulan at his shoulder, Shan-yu stalking towards them, armed again, with no escape from that golden, predatory gaze. His first instinct took over, the reflex to protect a woman from harm. Flinging out a hand, he ordered Mulan out of the room, thanking every god and goddess silently when he saw her rise and obey. 

Still struggling to fight through his daze, Shang drew out a knife without really knowing why. It was just something he had been taught to do even in his sleep. Shan-yu kicked the thing out of his hand roughly, sending a sharp burning pain through his arm. 

He did not feel a thing when Shan-yu seized him by the throat, pressing the sword point into his skin. "You," the growl seemed to roll through the air like thunder. "You took away my victory!" 

Something struck Shan-yu across the temple, forcing him to lower the sword. "No," Mulan was still there, staggering a minute to put her slipper back on, the thing she must have thrown at Shan-yu. "I did!" And she said it with pride too. 

Shan-yu turned to her, disbelieving, enraged, taking in her face as she pulled her hair back for him. "The soldier from the mountains," he recognized her at once, letting Shang slump to the floor as he took off running after her. 

It seemed like hours that he laid there, the moments stretching with unshakable exhaustion and pain. Mulan, her name crept into his thoughts, dragging him to his feet with alarm. He ran down the steps of the tower, the way she had gone, the cracked doors and broken pillars clear evidence of a struggle. He ran faster, making his way down another flight of stairs. An explosion burst through the air, a shower of color and light, fireworks blooming into the night sky. He was halfway down another flight when something collided against his back, throwing him from the steps onto the ground of the landing, leaving him with nothing to do but twist his body to ease the impact of the fall. The entire Palace seemed to shake under him as something slammed into the tower, igniting a second explosion. 

When he opened his eyes, Mulan was beside him, Shan-yu's smoking sword clattering at their feet. She looked at him, smiling sheepishly, not a hair out of place. 

"Are you alright?" He demanded quickly, helping her to her feet, not letting go of her arm until her three friends came running, as worried for her as he was. 

Nodding, she took a step back from him, smoothing her silk skirt. "You?" He only shrugged for answer. Shan-yu was dead, killed in the explosion. But they were still alive, unscathed. All that was left was the law. It did not matter that Shan-yu was dead, nothing had changed. 

"That was a deliberate attempt on my life!" Chi Fu's voice squawked through the smoke, shrill as ever as he stalked towards them. Shang planted himself in front of Mulan protectively, his hatred for the other man bringing him fully alert now. He did not even hate Shan-yu as much as he hated that man. "Where is she? Now you've done it, what a mess! Stand aside, that creature's not worth protecting." Out of the corner of his eye, Shang saw Chien Po take Mulan by the shoulders, ushering her to stand safely behind the four men where Chi Fu could not reach her. 

"She's a hero," Shang stood directly in front of him now, too close for Chi Fu to avoid his eyes. Once again, taking a special thrill at the wariness there. 

Still, Chi Fu managed to look away, over his shoulder in Mulan's direction. "She's a woman!" He protested bitterly. "She'll never be worth anything!" 

Shang had his hands around the scrawny man's throat in a heartbeat, lifting him off the ground, the words throwing him over the edge. After three sleepless nights, his father's death and two close encounters in battle, he had no restraint left in him. "Listen you pompous son of a bitch!" 

"That is enough," A regal voice commanded from the top of stairs, low, but one Shang did not dare disobey. 

As stately as ever, the aged monarch descended the staircase, yellow robes billowing behind him, the picture of dignity. Shang dropped his hold on Chi Fu, coming forth to meet the Emperor quickly, with a measure of desperation. "Your Majesty, I can explain." 

He was prepared to plead for her life, to take the blame, and if that failed, he was prepared to die beside her, whether by the executioner's blade or his own hand. After all she had done and endured, if she was condemned to suffer death, then there was no justice left in this world. The only honor would be what he took to the grave, devoting himself to the last, like disciple to teacher. That was true honor. There were some things one should never let go of, some things that should never be sacrificed. She was a symbol, he saw it now, a symbol of selfless, seemingly unattainable courage, uncompromising strength. It was all there in the arrow she had thrown at his feet. All his life he had been in love with that idea, finding it embodied in her so beautifully. An idea was worth more than an empire. 

Yet there was an understanding look in the Emperor's eye when he waved Shang aside. With no choice, the four men parted to reveal the small girl they had been guarding, leaving Shang to fidget nervously with his sore wrist. 

She stepped respectfully before the sovereign, deeply bowing her head, patiently enduring the older man's grandiose words, just as still as she had knelt there in the snow. He would have given the world for that kind of courage. 

"I've heard a great deal about you, Fa Mulan," he began sternly, sending shivers of anger through Shang, who watched nervously. "You ran away from home, stole your father's armor, impersonated a soldier, deceived your commanding officer, dishonored the Chinese army, destroyed my Palace, and..." he paused, the tone of accusation growing stronger with every named crime. Shang held his breath, clenching his fists, but Mulan seemed to take it all in stride. "You have saved us all." 

Exhaling with disbelief, Shang blinked. Surely, he hadn't heard correctly, surely... The Emperor lowered his head, bending his proud back in a deep bow before the stunned, small girl. Chi Fu was just as stunned, dropping prostrate in a panic at Mulan's small feet. Shang smiled, lowering himself to his knees and then touching his forehead reverently to the floor just beyond the point of her slipper, Yao, Ling and Chien Po following after him. 

When they rose, the Emperor was smiling too, seeing Mulan for what she was, a treasure. Her face beamed, alight with triumph and a new sense of self worth. She was offered a government post, but refused it, asking only to go home. So humble, like a true follower of the Dao. The Emperor placed his crest around her neck, Shan-yu's sword in her arms, still smiling. 

"Take this, so your family will know what you have done for me and the world will know what you have done for China." 

Then it was time for farewells, he watched her sadly as she embraced her friends, then turned to him, an expectant look on her face. That was when it all struck him. 

The relief at seeing her pardoned must have been too much to fathom then and there, he did not even allow himself to try. Flashes of what had happened between them last night flitted through his mind, the passion and desperation they had shared. She was alive and returning to her family, if her father found out... He was suddenly frozen, any traces of eloquence gone. "You fight good," he patted her shoulder, as close as dared come to her here. All he could think of was were her bold words then, her fire. He wished though that she would have embraced him too, remembering all too clearly the weight of her in his arms. 

A look of uncomfortable understanding and disappointment crossed her face. "Oh," she managed quietly. "Thank you." He knew what she wanted, what she deserved, some profession of love, something profound and full of meaning. He wished he could have given it to her then, but he was too weary and stunned to even begin. 

He was still frozen when she walked away, climbing on Khan's back and riding away proudly amid a shower of cheers, riding for her home, torn away from him just like in one of his dreams. The familiar sadness wrenched his heart like no other, the longing to run after her so strong he found he could not move. He only reached out one tentative, adoring hand, groaning in pained disappointment when it only held the air. 

The Emperor must have recognized the look upon his face, must have seen the torture for what it was. But of course he did, the man was like an uncle to him. He cleared his throat, stepping over to Shang and speaking with his quiet wisdom. "The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all." 

Astounded, Shang turned to him, wanting to have the blessing in more plainspoken terms. It was just that, a blessing, a hope that he would court her, marry her. It was almost too much, too frightening, they way he felt as if he were flying inside, restored to life by those few, pretty words. "Sir?" His informal address held a new softness. There was no need for titles between them when they stood here alone, the man was like any other older comrade. 

The Emperor glared at him as if he were being deliberately dunce. "You don't meet a girl like that every dynasty!" Putting his hat back on with a chuckle, he moved away, leaving Shang to his foolishness and confusion. 

~ * ~ 

Shang managed a quiet exit from the Imperial Palace that night. The last thing he wanted was to be confronted by the officials, men trying to find influence with one who had recently fallen into the Emperor's good graces. And worse than that, the string of women hoping to find themselves in his bed. He was far too tired and preoccupied to even pretend to endure it and politely refuse. 

Instead, he made his way through the city itself, having heard that some of the officers from Louyang had returned here. There was a tavern not far from the Palace where he was accustomed to finding his friends, chances were there would be someone there now he recognized. Not even a battle and a victory parade could keep a tavern empty for too long, not when soldiers were around. 

The noise of the place was enough to make Shang groan the moment he entered, drowsily scanning through the dimmed sea of faces for one he knew. The place was a mess of men drinking, gambling and arguing over the sounds of musicians and singers. Just like the parade, it made his ears ring. Still, he felt more at home here, second to being back at camp. 

"Li Shang!" A familiar deep voice called cheerfully from somewhere in that crowd, turning every head towards him with the shout. The rumble of gossip began at once. By now, everyone in the Imperial City knew his name, he was the one who had turned a woman into a hero. He was surprised really, at how much credit and praise had been heaped upon him for her accomplishments, deserving none of it of course. 

A tall figure stood, garbed in silk civilian clothing, making his way towards Shang with his usual swagger, a cup of liquor in his hand. Shang shook his head. The man never missed a chance to show off, a smile on that face which sent countless women fawning. But Shang smiled back, inwardly at least, Tai-shan always greeted him flagrantly, even back when no one had known his name at all. 

"I heard what happened," Tai-shan began, leading Shang to a table. "We just got here an hour ago, missed all the fun, I guess." Then he grinned, taking a seat, never losing his knack for finding humor in sore subjects. "I heard you had a young lady with you, among your troops. Everyone's talking about it." 

Propping an elbow up on the table, Shang leaned his forehead on the back of his hand. How could he just let her go? She seemed so lost beyond regaining now. His pride could not stand the confession, that he had been unable to find the self control to resist his desire for her, that she would return to her family having lost her honor as a maiden all because of him. The worst was when people whispered of her when they thought he could not hear, saying she must have been his lover to survive that long without discovery, and knowing there was a grain of truth to it. 

Tai-shan took one look at his troubled face and shouted immediately to the serving girl. "My friend needs a drink! Make it strong, too!" Satisfied when she ran for a cup, he turned back to Shang. "They said you just there watching her go, the look on your face, like a horse had run over you." He laughed softly until Shang kicked him under the table. 

"This isn't funny!" he growled sharply, picking up the cup the serving girl had brought him, taking a sip. "She's Fa Zhou's daughter. How could I have let this happen?" Sighing, he set the cup down to rub his head. 

The other man's eyes widened with interest. "Let what happen?" 

"She and I... we," He swallowed hard. Tai-shan was like his brother, he could tell him anything. He could trust him. "At first I didn't know who she was, just this girl in the river who was more than willing. When I figured it out, I couldn't stop thinking of her, I should have sent her away. When we both she would be executed, neither of us thought it would matter if we..." 

"You slept with her." Tai-shan finished for him, unflinchingly blunt. Laughing a little, he sipped his own drink, his worried look reminding Shang just how much trouble this could be. Shang knew what he was thinking, how unlike him this was, normally so restrained and in control, falling helplessly for this girl. He knew it showed in his face, that it was more than even he could hide. "It's not like you raped her," His friend added quickly, with a note of seriousness. He may be a playboy, but Tai-shan disliked men who hurt women. 

Rape, the word still made Shang flinch, pushing an image to the front of his mind. Her hands had been tied, a frightened look on her face, all he had felt was desperation from the night before. What if he had moved away before it went too far? What if he hadn't have been so forceful? But she had never told him to stop. 

Awash with guilt, he downed the rest of his cup. "What am I going to do?" 

Folding his arms, Tai-shan half smiled. "You're the great hero now, every noble's going to want you to marry his daughter, you know how you hate courtiers." Shang nodded, that was a true as anything. "So you have to be a soldier about it, do the honorable thing, or you'll never let it go. I know you. It's obvious you're in love with her - beyond hope might I add - so you can't just let her go because you're afraid her father has a sword waiting for you. That's not being fair to her, she wasn't afraid of anything from what I hear. If she has the courage to join the army and face execution, then you could at least go ask her father for her hand. The Emperor likes you, ask him for an Imperial decree if you have to." 

"Tai-shan," his head slumped comfortably on his friend's shoulder. "It isn't supposed to be like this." 

Putting an arm him, Tai-shan picked up Shang's cup and held it for him to drink. "What are you afraid of? I heard they're already composing poems for the way she looked at you." 

Shang's face was grim though, disappointed at his own hypocrisy. How many nights had he spent berating her in his mind for not coming to him with the truth? How much anger? And here he was, sitting with Tai-shan while she rode for him probably waiting as he had, waiting for a confession of a different kind. It was not so easy, he realized now, and it had nothing to do with honor. Deep down, he was a common man afraid of suffering, the soldier was just a mask. And her, she was the brave one, the river goddess was just an illusion. 

~ * ~ 

The Fa family land was the only real sign of wealth in the village, the place of a man accustomed to finer things but choosing to dwell in only modest imitation. Still it managed to project its majesty, a quiet paradise. Such places were rare for him. Shang was at first confronted by a stone wall bordering a courtyard richly hued with green trees spreading cherry blossoms across the grass, reminding a forlorn warrior that it was springtime. At the wall's gate, a pair of women stood, one short with gray streaked through her hair, yet radiating a mature beauty befitting this place. The other was much older, with no such aura, but appearing cheery all the same. 

They were talking, or rather the older woman was voicing some complaint while the younger - no doubt Mulan's mother - was listening quietly but shaking her head. 

"Excuse me," he intruded as politely as he could upon their conversation. They turned to him, speechless and stunned. "Is Fa Mulan here?" Their startlement increased with the mention of her name. Hadn't any man come asking for her before? She hardly looked like the sort of girl who could be demurely confined to the house. But all the two women could do was point. Brushing past them, he murmured a polite "Thank you," with a quizzical look for the eldest, eyeing him appreciatively. 

"Sign me up for the next war!" She muttered behind him a little too gleefully. He shook his head, laughing. But it did lighten his mood a bit. 

A tall man rose from a stone bench when he saw him, seating calmly under the cherry tree on the hill. Despite his obvious limp, the man had an aura of grace and dignity much like his wife, a presence that commanded respect. Shang had heard much about this man from his father, how he had left the battlefield forever changed by the things he had seen, becoming deeply religious, almost a mystic, searching for peace on his small plot of land, surrounded by beauty. Looking at that man, he saw his own future, from the war wound to the towering solemnity and the soldier's bearing that never left him with age. It was the mark of a hard life that refused to fade. 

"Honorable Fa Zhou," he bowed quietly, "I..." I am the son of your old friend, I have come to see your daughter, to apologize..." 

He never got the words out. She appeared suddenly from behind her father's shoulder, smiling and nervous. "Mulan!" He could not hide his excitement, then frowned. That was no proper way to address the young lady of his house. "You... um... forgot your helmet," He held out the thing he had been clutching all this time. "Actually it's umm... your helmet isn't it?" His nervous smile was for Fa Zhou this time. 

It wasn't until father and daughter stared at him that Shang realized how ridiculous he must have looked. He truly had intended to simply return the thing, as she had only given it to him as an excuse to speak those last poignant words in the tent. She seemed to know that, to recognize the same pathetic excuse, avoiding her father's eyes with obvious discomfort. It was more than that to Shang, remembering how he had donned it so she could not see his face as he turned away. He was tired of hiding now. Still, Shang had not meant to return it so quickly, just as an afterthought, something he thought she might want back, any soldier would. 

Fa Zhou looked amused, understanding even, stepping aside to let his daughter take command of the situation. That was not so wise though, as she was blushing horribly at the heated memory the thing must have conjured. It made him smile though, to see her recall that night with more shy embarrassment than pain. 

"Would you like to stay?" She asked politely, the courteous tone making him look her over more carefully. It still seemed strange, the silk skirts and free falling hair, making her appear just a shy maiden at first glance. It was hard to believe his river goddess, clumsy Ping, and this refined young lady were all one in the same. 

"That would be nice." 

"Father," she turned back to Fa Zhou, very in control now but still leaving him off balance. "This is Captain Li Shang." 

The old soldier's eyes brightened in instant recognition. "Your father was a great and loyal friend to me. I mourn him." He gave a little duck of his head to no one in particular, perhaps the late General's memory. 

Nodding his thanks, the solemn subject allowed Shang to recover himself. "I came to see how Mulan was doing, and to give her a message from the... the Emperor. Mulan, did you tell your mother and father that you were wounded?" From her earlier blushes and Fa Zhou's easy manner with him, Shang gathered she hadn't told her father anything else important. He wasn't sure if he was pleased with that or not. 

"No..." She seemed to be squirming under her father's sudden glare of concern. Glancing up at her father, she smiled reassuringly. "I was going to tell you, baba, I just getting around to it." Spoiled girl indeed, the only thing Chi Fu had been right about. 

Sharing a look of fond annoyance, Fa Zhou smiled at Shang slightly before making a move to leave. "I'll go tell your mother for you, and that we have a guest. Stay here, Mulan, and let Li Shang give you the Emperor's message so he can be at ease and make himself comfortable." 

As Fa Zhou turned away, Shang was grateful the man took his presence as being perfectly   
natural, with no snickers or knowing smiles as he left Shang alone with his daughter. 

"Shang," she said softly when her father was out of earshot. "I've missed you. 

He smiled, once again put off balance by her honesty. "I couldn't have stayed away for long." Then he sighed, the past few days had taken a heavy toll on him. "I kept thinking of you. I can't believe you're still alive." 

Her smile was warm, adoring. "I knew you wouldn't let me die, not if I made you promise." He laughed softly, she had a way of making him defenseless with her words. 

"Mulan, you know I did nothing." 

"You helped me escape, didn't you?" Her eyes challenged him to protest it. 

His laughter faded. The motive behind that was an unpleasant subject he vowed never to dredge up in her presence. His words were very serious now, almost impatient. "Mulan, when I thought you were going to be executed I told myself that if things were different I would have married you, shown you that I had some honor as a man to redeem yours. I have spoken to the Emperor, he favors the match. I hope your parents will be pleased, and you of course." 

She was silent for a moment, but when she spoke her words were faint. "I am." He must have come to know her very well, after all the days of studying her, to know the question before she even asked it, and why she was asking it. "The other night in my tent, before Chi Fu came in, what were you going to say?" 

The expectation in her face was so much, so daunting, that all he could do to escape it was answer teasingly. "Something flowery and dramatic and completely unlike me." It was simple really, just a promise to honor her in death as if she had been his wife. 

Stepping closer, she placed a hand on his chest, her eyes wide with amusement. "Some would call that poetry." 

Instinctively, he grasped that hand, holding it over his heart, just as he had in the river. They stood that way for a long moment, as he gazed at her and tried to think of words to assure her that it was love. But even with a clear head, he realized he still did not know where to begin. 

~ * ~ 

The water was clear, reaching just below the small soft hand he clasped over his heart. Shang gazed at her face, dropping her hand to brush the loose dark hair from her forehead. Mulan was smiling at him where she leaned against the rock, pleased and anxious, lips parted for him to kiss her. He did so, demanding as always, pressing her back into the rock until she shifted her legs around him with a little moan. 

They had been here in the water for long moments now, taking their time. He enjoyed torturing her this way, she was impatient and impulsive, he meticulous and deliberate. But being the soldier she was, she held her own, finding her own advantage. It was like a battle without armor. 

Laughing softly, his mouth slid along her chin, lifting her by the shoulders out of the water so he could kiss lower. She unwound her arms from around his neck, letting them brace her against the rock as she arched forward, exposing herself to him in the moonlight. 

His mouth skimmed slowly to her breast, smooth as white jade in the darkness. Then his hand trailed up from her hip, finding the rough red line across her ribs. It was the scar from Shan-yu's sword, fading and healed now. He pressed a kiss to it gently before raising his head to look up at her. 

"It's still ugly, isn't it?" She was frowning a little. But there was a playful danger in her eyes, just daring him to agree. 

"No," he assured her quickly, remembering how bravely she faced Shan-yu in battle all those months ago. That scar was a priceless reminder of courage, and never to abandon a righteous hope, even against certain death. "Better than this, anyway." 

Taking her hand, he placed her fingers on a quick red mark just below his shoulder. She touched it curiously, the way she always touched him in moments like this, taking full advantage of the fact her hands weren't bound, or held away by him. That made him smile; he wanted her to touch him freely. 

"Shan-yu's arrow," she mused quietly. "I never understood why you hid the wound at the Pass. It must have hurt you." 

"I forgot about it," he dismissed it just as softly, remembering how the thing had festered days later. "I was hurting so much then already." 

Smiling in her soothing way, Mulan leaned forward to kiss him, her hands moving over him again. He groaned, felt her mouth on his neck, making him force his body closer to her. Her nails were relentless when they dug into his skin, demanding, shifting her legs so he could push his way inside of her. A hundred sensations confronted him, warmth, desperation and a sense of abandon. Those feelings drove him as he struggled for release, only half aware of the sting of her fingernails in his skin. 

Collapsing in her arms, he allowed his heartbeat and breathing to slow. There was only the feel of warm skin soaked in sweat and water as Mulan clung to him just as tightly, seeking comfort after that overwhelming sensation. 

"Beautiful goddess," he murmured into her shoulder, smiling. "Who are you?" 

When she pulled back, there was a playful light in her eyes. He knew what she was about to say. 

"I must go," she feigned sadness, touching his face. Before he could stop her she had pulled out of his hold, already swimming for the shore. 

Shang knew it was only a game, his cue for him to chase her if he wanted her again. He made his way through the water in quick powerful strokes, stepping on the shore to don his clothes quickly. But a distraction made him pause there a moment, a memory of the first night he had met Mulan here. That night, he had promised himself a day to reason out that sense of loss with a clear head. It may be months later, but he understood now, recalling his efforts to caution her away, speaking of the danger there for a lone woman. But she was brave, she had never feared the danger, she did not fear herself. She was like Yaoji in his dream, a mirror of everything he wanted to be. 

Even though it was only a memory - and a game now - that old pain still rose from deep in his heart like a wave never seen by this river. But he was not the tired king in that story, King Huai had given up too soon. Smiling again, Shang ran after her through the willow trees. He would not let her go, not for all the myriad things in this world.   


The End   
Copyright © 2001 Illyana, Lian-hua and Wendybyrd 


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